


Challenge One: Image Prompts

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:44:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 106,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries for <a href="http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/77350.html">Challenge One: Image Prompts</a> for summerpornathon 2012</p><p>Voting post can be found <a href="http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/78471.html">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (warnings)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings (and image prompts) included in chapters 1-3.
> 
> Chapters 4-6 are repeats of chapters 1-3 without warnings or image prompts.

**01**

Image(s) used: #9

Arthur often declares, pointedly within his roommate’s hearing, that smoking is a filthy habit. It’s unhealthy and unpleasant. Anyone who does it is an idiot.

Whenever he says this, Merlin just grins at him and lights up.

In truth, Arthur’s objections are more to do with the way the heat curls under his skin when Merlin purses his lips around a slim white tube, his long fingers flicking at his lighter. The way his mouth waters at the sinful curve of Merlin’s mouth as he exhales.

Arthur suspects Merlin knows this.

*

Arthur knocks softly on Merlin’s bedroom door. It’s late, he should just go to bed, but he hasn’t seen Merlin all day, and he’ll feel weird and unsettled if he doesn’t at least check in with him. It’s probably unhealthily co-dependent, but he’s long since given up caring.

“Merlin?” he calls softly, pushing the door open when he gets no reply.

Merlin’s naked, slouched over in the armchair squashed into the corner of his room, with one hand on his cock. But Arthur’s eyes are drawn automatically to the cigarette held between two fingers or his other hand, poised on the edge of his pink lips.

Arthur draws a sharp breath; his pulse races.

Merlin looks _gorgeous_ ; languid and sexy and Arthur doesn’t know whether he wants to stumble across the room and replace the cigarette with his dick, or stumble across the room and drop to his knees.

Merlin isn’t perturbed by his entrance, he doesn’t blush or stammer or move to cover himself. Instead, he smirks and slides the cigarette fully between his lips, then trails his now-free hand down his chest, not stopping until he’s cupping his balls and spreading his legs further to give Arthur a perfect view.

Arthur has to bite his lip to keep from groaning when Merlin’s hand moves again, finger sliding between his legs to brush against his hole.

Merlin has no such qualms; he moans deep in his throat, eyes flicking up to stare at Arthur. After an endless moment, he reaches up, removes the cigarette, and exhales, the smoke curling around his head.

“Come here.”

He says it softly, no urgency, but it unlocks Arthur’s limbs and he’s there in an  
instant, on his knees and so turned on he can hardly breathe around it. Merlin’s hand ( _the one that was just on his dick_ , Arthur’s brain screams at him) reaches out to brush through his hair, stroke across his cheek, caress his mouth. Arthur looks up and Merlin’s smiling at him, that fond, cheeky look he wears so often when he looks at Arthur.

Merlin’s hand nudges him, intent obvious, and Arthur is willing, desperate, to oblige. He lowers his head and takes the head of Merlin’s cock into his mouth, slowly, savouring the taste and feel.

It’s not the best blow job he’s ever given; it’s a little sloppy and he chokes the first time Merlin’s cock hits the back of his throat. Merlin doesn’t seem to mind, given the way he hums his pleasure and urges Arthur on with the hand in his hair.

The cigarette dangling forgotten from Merlin’s fingers is the only indication of the passage of time: Arthur’s knees don’t hurt, his jaw doesn’t ache, he feels like he could do this endlessly, stay here and wring more of those delicious panting noises out of Merlin for all eternity. The cigarette is burning low now, close to Merlin’s skin. It feels like his time is almost up.

He takes one hand off Merlin’s hip and pushes his own jeans and boxers down to mid-thigh, wrapping his hand around his neglected cock. The moment he touches himself, time speeds up again, and he’s desperate to come, desperate to see _Merlin_ come. He slides his hand from the base of Merlin’s cock and brushes a finger against his entrance.

Arthur looks up as he does it, begging permission, and Merlin’s eyes are wide and dark when he nods. It only takes the press of Arthur’s finger to the tight ring of muscle, Merlin opening around him and Arthur’s lips and tongue and throat still working furiously, and Merlin’s coming, in his mouth, and the taste of him pushes Arthur over the edge.

He’s breathing heavily, forehead pressed into Merlin’s hip, when he feels a tug on his hair. He goes willingly, climbing awkwardly into Merlin’s mouth and ignoring Merlin’s huff of amusement. 

Merlin’s mouth tastes of ash and smoke.

* * *

**02**

Image(s) used: 04

Surprising Freya is still one of Merlin’s favourite things, and there’d been joy enough in watching her find the envelope with the plane tickets, propped on the counter by her keys, watching her mouth draw up in an ‘o’ and her eyes grow wide with unexpected delight.

“Venice?” Freya had said, her voice hushed with bliss, and Merlin had grinned as he kissed the upturned corner of her mouth.

That was nothing, though, compared to what it’s like to stand beside her now, on the tiny balcony of their room, and watch her fall in love with a place; the water of the canal straight below them, the sun above, glistening off old rooftops and rippled waves.

Freya is utterly silent, and that’s her all over: quiet with her happiness, so careful, like the slightest noise may cause it to crack and fall into dust.

They get lost well before lunch, wandering the narrow alleys, Freya’s eyes growing brighter and her smile growing wider as the ever-present tang of salt settles into their noses, their lungs. Getting lost is part of the Venice experience, Merlin had read that somewhere, and maybe it’s part of what he was looking for when he booked the tickets: the two of them together, unreachable, unfindable, hidden from the rest of the world.

It’s cheaper to eat standing up than to take a table, so that’s what they do, in a trattoria with crumbling plaster walls painted a faded bluish-brownish-green that must once have matched the colour of the sea. Merlin and Freya share a basket of polpette, the fish inside piping hot and flaky, the breading of the little fried balls sticking to their fingers, and wash it down with one Campari between them. Merlin finds himself half mesmerised by the wave of Italian washing over them, loathe to break it up with English, and Freya must feel the same, because they limit their own conversation to the flickers of their eyes and twists of their smiles.

A water taxi back to their rooms, after that. They’re in a mood to spend the afternoon indoors.

Freya flings open the window before she loops her arms around his neck, pulling their bodies flush together, and if Merlin weren’t already hard from the boat ride - the rhythmic slap of the water, Freya’s hand on his thigh, too high to be innocent, one finger ever-so-lightly pressing against his cock - Merlin would grow against Freya now, except he already feels pulled more taut than he can bear. He’s ready to press, to thrust, to rut.

He backs up against the bed, pulling her down on top of him, licking at the salt on her skin, in the crook of her neck, letting himself drown in the curling tendrils of her hair.

Freya works at his belt, lowers his zip, then stops, her small hand pressing firm and sure through the cloth of his boxers to his cock. She believes in giving moments time to breathe; Merlin’s bad at that sometimes, and knows it, so he stills his hips, lets himself feel the sea air on his body, the low pulse in his blood, the ageless love in his heart.  
“I’m going to take off your shirt now,” he says, when he can’t hold any longer.

She laughs, the arch of her back sweet and instinctive. “You always have the best ideas.”

Later, much later, she’s sitting on the windowsill, smoking - bad habit, but everybody needs one of those, and Merlin’s long used to Freya tasting ever so slightly of ash, of death and rebirth. The late afternoon sun streams in behind her, throwing shadows and light over her smooth skin and the white of her camisole.

Merlin steps up between her legs, framed by her, blanketed by her, like the city is by the sea.

It’s a good way to spend the centuries.

* * *

**03**

Warnings: Mild bloodplay, masochism  
Image(s) used: 02

He knows how to take a punch, endure the burn from pushing his body harder, rougher than endurance should allow. Pain has long been a common bedfellow, so familiar he can forget about it without effort.

But not all pain is the same. The first time a girl scratches his back, Percival almost comes on the spot.

A sting is different. It’s an act of desperation that refuses to be ignored. It doesn’t matter where the scratch occurs—along his arm, his shoulders, the inside of his thighs—because the effect is always the same. The rivulets of fire scorch their way across the rest of his skin to consume any rational thought he might have left.

None of the others know. Once, he thinks Elyan has figured it out when a fall into brambles leaves Percival digging his fingers into the soft earth to try and keep some semblance of control. But his “Well, if you wore sleeves once in a while…” is more joke than discovery, and Percival can jerk off during his watch that night, his free hand worrying the fresh scores along his forearm, safe in his secrets yet again.

The thing about secrets, though…they need to be told. Shared. Their power comes in exclusivity, not one or three owning them, but two. He begins looking at the men and women of Camelot with new eyes, wondering if this girl will understand, if that boy will recoil in disgust. He sees pairs clutch at each other in dim recesses, caught in the spaces between, and walks away hollowed from his unfulfilled desires.

Spotting Merlin and Gwaine behind the tavern isn’t so much an accident as it might be fate. Because he goes hard the second he sees Merlin’s long fingers rake down the side of Gwaine’s neck as their kisses turn to grappling.

“Watch it.” Gwaine’s voice is muffled with laughter. “I’m running out of stories to explain those to Arthur.”

The only stories Percival has heard involve scullery maids, so he doesn’t think it’ll be that hard to explain at all. And he shouldn’t watch, or stare at the beads of blood half-hidden by Gwaine’s hair, or wish he was the one pressing Merlin to the side of the building, feeling those nails claw and mark.

Except he does. When it gets too much to bear, he ducks into a dark corner and reaches inside his trousers. One stroke is all it takes.

From that point on, he doesn’t seek strangers. His eyes search for Merlin, those few minutes he witnessed fervent echoes he can’t block out.

For all his cravings, however, Merlin is the one who comes to him.

“Are we all right?”

Percival tries not to stiffen and fails. “Course.”

“It’s just…you’ve been watching me.”

When his eyes steal to Merlin’s hands, his face heats. “I watch everybody.”

“That’s not what Gwaine says.”

Though he might’ve dreamed about shoving Merlin to a wall and tearing into his body hard enough for Merlin to take his turn tearing at Percival’s skin, he’s not ready for this. “I just…I saw you two. Kissing. And…” Another glance at the long fingers, and his words choke away.

A knowing smile curves Merlin’s mouth. “Gwaine likes kissing.” He steps closer, and there’s nowhere for Percival to run, to escape the fresh flood of warmth suddenly inches from his vulnerable flesh. “What about you?”

Percival swallows, or tries to. Everything he’s wanted is right here, an offering for the taking if he can only find the nerve. The best he can manage is tugging aside the neck of his tunic, baring the scratches he inflicted upon himself that converge into a delicious burn over his nipple.

The tip of Merlin’s tongue appears, not along his lips but the edge of his teeth, nostrils flaring, pupils dilating as he drinks in the sight. Then he reaches out, up, and the world tunnels down to fingers and nails and the shudders wracking through Percival’s muscles when fresh blood wells in the skin Merlin breaks open again. “So we are all right.” His voice has gone gruff. “But we could be better.”

Percival nods.

And they are.

* * *

**04**

Warnings: nudity, exhibitionism if you squint  
Image(s) used: #12 (and 8 sorta)

**Camera Shy**

“Fucking photographers.” His knees hurt. Not only that. The paint itched, all over, every-fucking-where as it dried. And where it wasn’t busy sucking the moisture from his skin he was naked, without even the paint as a cover. The photographer was staring at him like he could make him do what he wanted just by willing it. Sorry didn’t work that way. And the boss was standing back, shaking his head at a computer monitor.

“Move the hand over to the left a bit.”

Merlin glared at the camera lens. “Are you insane? I know this is a porn rag but give me some decency.”

The boss, who he hadn’t known was the boss when he walked in as he looked very normal besides being damn gorgeous, slapped a clipboard down and the photographer nearly dropped the camera. “I told you, it isn’t a porn rag. It is an artisan magazine. If you would shut up and loosen up long enough maybe we could get the picture and you could get out of here, never to show your pasty self again.”

Merlin scowled at him. Boss-man indeed. The photographer, whose name he really didn’t care to remember, turned to look over his shoulder. “I can’t get a shot that works. Any ideas, Arthur?”He turned back to Merlin and mouthed, “Porn rag.”

Dragging his hands through golden hair in frustration so it gave him a very nice just-shagged look, Arthur stared at Merlin and he fidgeted under the gaze. The paint seemed to be drying faster than ever as he tensed up. He was again thankful they’d placed his hand over his crotch because his cock gave a very inappropriate twitch under the scrutiny. He was probably going to start blushing ten shades soon.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. And oh hell this wasn’t good at all. He’d fought tooth and nail as they’d slathered him in the paint and now Arthur had picked up more and was coming toward him. It had taken everything to stave off an erection when it wasn’t Arthur doing the slathering. Not porn rag, artisan, not…He knelt in front of Merlin and dipped the brush in the paint so it came out looking like tar.

Merlin almost shimmied backward but Arthur pinned him there, like he knew he was going to move. The brush hit his shoulder and dragged down his side to send shivers through him. He closed his eyes, ignoring the cold and wet as Arthur repainted the lines they’d made earlier. It was easy to ignore. The paint over dried paint wasn’t as bad as on skin. He could get through this with his digni– “Bloody hell!” A new line had been started in the crease of his hip and that was not right at all.

He jumped backward but a hand stopped him and his eyes snapped up to find Arthur staring at him, equal parts amused and exasperated. “Hold still you idiot or we’ll have to start over.”

A full shudder ran down his back. “O-over?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and ran the brush over his chest. “Yes, over.” Merlin’s face must have shown something of his horrified arousal because a smirk quickly stole over Arthur’s face. He put the brush down and reached into the paint himself, watching Merlin the whole time.

Merlin cursed his overactive mind as it quickly supplied a place that hand could go if it really wanted. The hand dragged itself from the paint and dripped leisurely as Arthur studied him. Merlin barely had time to swallow before Arthur whipped forward and his fingers brushed below Merlin’s navel causing him to inhale so sharply his ribs had to be standing out.

“Take a coffee break. I think Merlin needs some help loosening up. Don’t you, Merlin?”

Hardly able to believe his ears, and very unable to move at the moment, Merlin nodded. The photographer sighed gratefully and pushed off his knees. Merlin could see him walking away rubbing the back of his neck and not looking twice at the odd scene on the studio floor.

Arthur’s hand dragged downward without hesitation, without Merlin even able to think about stopping it, and wrapped paint-slick fingers over his half-hard cock. Giving an angelic smile that did not match his hand’s leisurely stroking, Arthur said, “Let’s loosen you up, eh? Give a good performance,” Merlin nearly chocked as he squeezed, “and we’ll see about bringing you back for our next issue. How do you feel about wax, Merlin?”

* * *

**05**

Warnings: Overstimulation  
Image(s) used: #2

"Sonofabitch," Merlin curses, spine curing and stomach muscles cramping with the sheer force of the pleasure coiling hot and heavy in the hang of his balls. 

"Dammit, Arthur, _fuck_ ," he spits out. 

But Arthur doesn't move his mouth. 

His lips are still so pink around the base of Merlin's cock, sealed tight and twitching ever so slightly with the beginnings of a smirk.

That smug bastard. 

His tongue moves on the bottom and a wave of pleasure rocks through him, causing him to cry out and jerk his body as much as possible in the position that he was stuck in--smashed up against the wall, legs tangled up in the thick cord of Arthur’s arms and back and _fuck_ , he’s curved awkwardly so that Arthur’s head is a mop of bright blond hair that is cradled in the bowl of his belly. Merlin’s body is aching, strung too tight with pleasure, with his legs splayed to the mercy of Arthur’s plundering fingers. 

“Ah, fuck _ah_ ,” the puffs of desperate noises coming out of his mouth are embarrassing but he’s moments from crying the pain and pleasure is too fine.

“ _Arthur_ ,” Merlin begs, fingers scrambling and digging into the cord of Arthur’s shoulders. The three fingers buried deep inside of Merlin’s arse wiggle, sopping with lube they make a slippery sound that echoes around the soundtrack of Merlin’s heavy panting. “Arthur, you bastard, just--”

Arthur will never relent. 

His fingers curl, so slowly as they fill Merlin to the brim, until he’s pressing against Merlin’s prostate. 

“Fuck, fuck--”

And keep pressing. 

And keep pressing.

Arthur’s mouth never moves but remains sealed tight around Merlin’s cock, bathing it in the wet warmth of his mouth and hot suction. There’s no fiction though, just oppressive presence of Arthur’s tongue and the hint of teeth every time Merlin’s hips jerk too hard. 

He’ll have bruises from Arthur’s other hand, definitely on his hipbone but possibly over the flat of his lowerback were Arthur shifts and pressing and punishes Merlin with his mouth.

And those fingers.

“Jesus,” but the pressing doesn’t stop and Merlin’s going to lose it. The pleasure is exploding, punching him in the gut and leaving him _heaving_ for breath but Arthur’s mouth doesn’t give and Merlin can feel every pad of his fingers as Arthur presses hard inside of him. It’s not just milking his prostate, it’s brutal pressure that won’t relent and Merlin starts to come on an exhale. 

He can’t get oxygen into his lungs but he can’t be bothered to be worried about his own asphyxiation because he’s coming so hard that he’s crying. There’s a slew of curses tangled with Arthur’s name coming out of his mouth as he jerks, coming inside that hot space of Arthur’s mouth. He can’t make out the words but they’re there, spilling out with a viciousness that mimics the spurt of his cock. 

Merlin can’t see Arthur’s eyes from here but he would place money that they’re dancing.

Arthur’s fingers still keep pressing until Merlin’s body is shaking, tears running down his face and dropping down the bare expanse of Arthur’s back. There’s sweat there but also tracks of Merlin’s fingernails as they scraped and begged down the flesh of Arthur’s shoulders. 

“Enough, fuckArthur, just enough, please,” Merlin pleads, running the sweat and tears on his fingers into the grooves he’s made into Arthur’s shoulders until the press of those fingers finally lets up. 

They don’t stop existing. Arthur’s fingers are still there, curling and waiting like a predator ready to attack, but they’ve stopped their assault. Merlin takes a deep breath and tries to get the shaking and crying under control. He’s so overstimulated, cock still nestled in Arthur’s mouth and arse still well stuffed with his beautiful fingers. 

Merlin puffs out breaths, still curved around Arthur like he’s the one that needs protecting. 

He traces the makes, angry pink, and thinks about how it will be when he can tongue them and feels some measure of victory. For a few seconds. For a few lingering moments. 

Before Arthur’s fingers unfurl, slide out of Merlin and then plunge back in, curling to hit Merlin’s prostate without any mercy.

* * *

**06**

Warnings: Mild D/s, unprotected sex  
Image(s) used: 02, 03, 09

Jesus fucking hell. What a day. What a week. What a fucking _month_.

A camping trip as a last hurrah before they sold their souls to the corporate cog had been such a brilliant idea, but here Merlin was, _suffering_.

His balls were swollen and blue. His cock -- _fuck_. His cock had been at half-mast ever since they arrived at this butt-fuck no-cell-reception zone of God's nowhere.

It was a gorgeous location, with rolling hills and snow-capped mountains and rippling lake waters and morning mist and the purple glow of false dawns, but it was all the pretty boys who were doing him in. _God._

They had no idea. _No idea._ It was some sort of orchestrated plan to see who could make Merlin's balls explode.

Merlin stuck his fag in his mouth and squeezed the base of his cock to keep himself from coming too quick. He exhaled a swirling line of grey smoke. His head rolled back and struck the tree trunk with a dull thump. 

There was a splash and a startled, "Who's there?"

 _Fuck_ if Merlin's cock didn't get harder, because that was Arthur's voice. Merlin craned his neck and looked through the trees. Arthur was out of the water naked as the day he was born, looking around. His arms, his legs, his arse --

 _Fuckety fuck fuck fuck_. 

"I know it's you, Merlin. You're the only one who smokes," Arthur said. "Stop being a fucking voyeur."

Merlin took a steadying drag and exhaled out in a defiant cloud of smoke. "Fuck off, you goddamn wanker. Can't a man toss himself off in peace? "

"Come out, Merlin," Arthur said. Merlin peered around the tree trunk and did a double-take. Was that Arthur, stroking himself?

" _Now_ , Merlin," Arthur barked.

Merlin walked out of the woods, cock bobbing. He pinched his cigarette and threw it aside. "Well?"

"Get on your knees," Arthur said. He pointed at a towel near a fallen log.

"What?"

"It's not a wank that you need. It's a good hard fuck," Arthur said. "I'm not going to repeat myself."

Arthur's body was outlined in the early-morning dawn, his cock hard and slick, weeping cum in his strong hand. Merlin's knees went weak at the sight of him. "God, yes."

Merlin scrambled onto his knees, balanced on one arm, and stroked himself a few times in anticipation. He looked over his shoulder and jerked when he felt a slap on his arse.

"Don't. You're not going to come until I tell you, or you're not going to come at all," Arthur said, his voice dangerously low. 

Merlin whimpered. Stopping himself was the worst torture _ever_ , but he was rewarded with Arthur's tongue soaking his hole, Arthur's fingers working him open, Arthur's cock against his entrance and enough spit to make it slide, but not enough slick to ease the burn.

There was just enough time to get used to Arthur's cock in him before Arthur pulled out all the way and thrust all the way back in. Hard.

Merlin grabbed the fallen log for support, his fingernails scratching into the damp wood deep enough to leave marks. There was no apology from Arthur, no pause to check to see if he was okay, and that was _perfect_ because Merlin didn't want one. Didn't need one. Arthur was right. All he needed was a good, hard fuck.

The towel did nothing to protect Merlin's knees from the stony beach. The log barely braced Merlin against the flesh-slapping thrusts. His cock bobbed with every one of Arthur's direct hits on his prostate.

"Nn.. Nnrg... Ar... Arthur... I... I'm gonna --"

"Not yet," Arthur ordered.

"F.. _Fuck_." Merlin tried to think of something to distract him. The sting of the cuts and scrapes on his arms and knees. The rising sun over the horizon. Their friends in the cabin _over there_ , who could walk out any moment.

It was no use. His sight went white, his hole clenched, his cock jerked and pulsed ropes and ropes of come all over the towel, and he was pretty sure that his moan could be hear clear across the lake.

"Shite." 

Merlin winced when Arthur pulled out. Merlin shivered when he felt Arthur's thighs against his, the pump of come smearing on his arse and the small of his back.

He was done for when Arthur whispered a hoarse, husky, "Damn it, Merlin. I'm going to have to teach you how to obey me, aren't I?"

* * *

**07**

Image(s) used:03

The first thing Lancelot notices is his own easy breathing. The air is somehow fresher, brighter, more enlivening than usual. He feels cleansed and renewed, ready for the long day ahead.

It takes him a moment to remember where he is. The sound of water lapping against the shore brings to mind the image of Merlin lying half-dead at the water’s edge, of Merlin slumped over the back of his horse, face frozen in brave terror. His whispered protests of _Arthur_ and _I need to protect him_ and _please_ resound in Lancelot’s mind even now. Struck with a jolt of hot, suffocating dread, he opens his eyes, searching for Merlin, praying the Vilia have upheld their vow to protect and heal him.

He sees Merlin and is filled with conflicting sensations: the warm spread of relief at Merlin’s apparent health, and an urgent pang of arousal, because Merlin is _naked_. He is wading into the water, just visible in the first minutes of sunrise, his perfect round arse a delectable shadow that makes Lancelot nearly groan with the need to bury his face there, to lick and bite and _taste_ Merlin’s delicate skin.

Merlin crouches in the water, which is only as deep as his waist. When he leans down to submerge his head, Lancelot takes the opportunity to roll fully onto his side, relieving the strain on his neck and settling in to watch Merlin bathe, despite the objection of his conscience.

Merlin’s head emerges, and Lancelot hears him suck in a deep breath. The air is still and silent here; it must be the magic of this place. He watches Merlin slide his hands over his skin, scrubbing off the grime of the previous day. When Merlin reaches down between his legs, Lancelot’s breath catches in his throat. Even though he can’t see anything, even though the act is completely innocent, the idea of Merlin’s hand on his cock drives him mad with desire.

Merlin lingers with his right hand cupped around his genitals. Lancelot can just make out the lazy movement of Merlin’s arm. _Oh, god_ , Lancelot realises with a low groan he can’t stifle, his cock swelling. _He’s pleasuring himself_.

Merlin rises to his knees, the water lapping at his narrow thighs, and turns to face the rising sun. Lancelot admires this perfect profile, Merlin’s lovely face upturned towards the sky, his hard cock pulled upward by his steadily moving hand.

Lancelot memorises the way Merlin touches himself, analyses the long, slow strokes and the sudden jerks at the tip, where he thinks Merlin may be brushing a thumb across his slit. He envisions running his tongue there, tasting his fluid, Merlin’s long fingers gripping Lancelot’s hair. He’s wanted it for ages, and he can’t help wishing he were behind Merlin, rutting against the cleft of Merlin’s gorgeous arse, kissing down the long stretch of his neck, his own hands wrapped around Merlin’s cock, keeping him steady as he works his prick just the way he likes it.

Merlin roughly tugs at his cock, and Lancelot catches a gentle moan. As Merlin runs his hand over his shaft, the other hand now brushing a nipple, his moans become louder, more confident, more intense.

Lancelot feels a bead of sweat drip across his brow from the effort of staying completely still and silent. He hardly dares to breathe lest he drown out the soul-rending sounds falling from Merlin’s lips. He imagines holding Merlin down and pressing the blunt head of his cock into Merlin’s arse, pulling those same sounds from him, whispering to him as he moves within—whispers things like _you’re beautiful_ and _forever_ and _only you_.

Merlin has gone stiff, the muscles in his legs and arse seizing up tight, his hand moving ardently over his rigid prick. He’s about to come—Lancelot knows he is, and he wants to see it, wants to experience all that is the zenith of Merlin’s magical existence.

Just as Merlin’s hand slows, he lets out a deep groan of pleasure. Lancelot can’t see him spurting from here, but he can imagine it, can imagine Merlin coating Lancelot’s chest with his release. Between heavy, heart-wrenching moans, Lancelot just makes out Merlin’s broken, _Arthur. Arthur, yes._

Several moments pass, and Merlin stands, his movement languid. Lancelot closes his eyes and lets himself breathe.

Feeling himself drift again, Lancelot thinks of all the things he’d sacrifice for Merlin, deciding that his life will have to be enough.

* * *

**08**

Warnings:Crossdressing, misuse of office supplies  
Image(s) used: Image 6

Arthur ran his tongue up Merlin’s calf, his silk stocking pooling around his black Louboutin. “What makes you think you’re qualified for the job?” Arthur asked as he undid the fastenings holding up the second stocking. 

He caressed a sensitive spot behind Merlin’s knee, and Merlin momentarily drew a blank on the English language, too busy soaking in the gorgeous man in front of him. Arthur licked up his thigh to the edge of his skirt. Merlin cleared his throat and tried to ignore the velvet tongue. “Erm, I’m good at…” He broke off and moaned when Arthur’s teeth bit the skin near his groin and sucked hard. “I’m good at committing to projects and seeing them through.”

Arthur’s hand slid up and brushed his erection through his frilly, pink knickers. Merlin squirmed on the desk, wrinkling the paper calendar under his arse. Arthur smirked. “I see. Anything else?”

Merlin was still having trouble focusing, and Arthur’s nose slowly moving up his torso, kissing his silk-covered skin, was a powerful distraction. “I’m dedicated and loyal.” He sucked in a sharp breath when Arthur nipped the underside of his jaw and kissed his adam’s apple. 

“How dedicated? PennTech employees need to go the extra mile.” Merlin felt hot arousal shoot through him when Arthur simultaneously lifted his hips, pushed his skirt up, and tugged his knickers down. 

“Oh god!” Merlin swallowed hard and tried to form a coherent sentence. “Whatever it--” He tried to stifle a loud moan when Arthur’s fist wrapped around his erection and tugged. “Whatever it takes, Mr. Pendragon. Sir.” He felt like a cheap whore, desperate for a fuck, as Arthur reduced him to a writhing puddle of desire. 

Spots swam in his vision, the cincher around his waist making it hard to breathe. He gasped, desperate for air, lungs burning. Arthur sucked the junction of his shoulder and neck, then murmured into his ear, “Why do you want to work for PennTech?” 

Merlin, fuck drunk, ignored the question and reached out to grab the lapels of Arthur’s jacket and pull their bodies together. He undid Arthur’s belt and opened his trousers. 

Arthur’s eyes went wide and dark, and he swatted Merlin’s hand away and pulled his erection out so he could bring their cocks together and wrap his fist around them. “Mmm…I like an employee who takes initiative.” Their erections rubbing together was Nirvana, and Merlin could feel the beginnings of his climax.

His skirt kept falling down over, slowing Arthur’s rhythm. Annoyed, Arthur growled, grabbed his stapler, and stapled the offensive fabric to Merlin’s blouse to keep it from sliding down. Merlin would have objected under normal circumstances, but the tightening of his balls left him inclined to applaud Arthur’s genius, as getting off was more important than his stupid, cock-blocking skirt.

Merlin felt blind to everything except the hand around his dick, so he startled when a cool, wet finger circled the entrance of his arse. “You keep _lube_ at your _desk_?” 

Arthur grinned. “Employees of PennTech should always be prepared.” Merlin forgot his complaints when a slick finger pushed inside of him. He cried out and nearly fell off the desk when Arthur’s finger curved and expertly located his prostate. “Sssh,” Arthur soothed, loosening his tie and stuffing it into Merlin’s mouth. “God, you’re so sexy like this. _Fuck_ ,” his voice was low and broken, “to have you in my office every day, hot and ready whenever I want...” 

He could hear Arthur reaching for something on his desk and _whined_ when he felt the blunt end of a dry erase marker being pushed into his arse. “Mr. Emrys, are you sure you want the job?”

Merlin nodded, desperate, and Arthur worked another marker into his hole. 

Arthur reached up and tugged the tie out of his mouth, caressing his lips with his thumb. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Yes, please, fuck, yes!” He felt dizzy, drunk, and _full_. Arthur squeezed their erections and nudged the markers deeper. Merlin felt his balls draw up and his body shake apart as he came, feeling blissfully debauched. Arthur followed seconds later, and Merlin felt their release over the front of his silk blouse. 

He frowned at Arthur as he dabbed at the mess with his handkerchief. “That’s not helping.”

Arthur had the grace to look sheepish and Merlin leaned forward to kiss his expression away. “Do you interview all potential employees this way?”

Arthur beamed. “Only the ones I’m married to.”

* * *

**09**

Warnings: rough sex, ambiguous infidelity, general s4 spoilers  
Image(s) used: 02

The first time was unplanned.

The King of Camelot and his manservant came home from a quest and ended up having an argument. About Arthur always putting himself in danger, and Merlin always putting himself in danger to save Arthur. They used harsh words, not the affectionate insults they usually did. When Arthur grabbed Merlin, the sorcerer thought for a moment that he really had taken it too far this time, but instead of hurting or shaking him, Arthur pulled Merlin against his chest and kissed him hard on the lips.

That turned into another battle.

It was more teeth and tongue than lips, and Arthur ripped Merlin’s shirt without apologising in his hurry to get his manservant naked. Merlin was not sure how they ended up in bed, but he found himself completely naked and flipped on his stomach before Arthur was out of his breeches.

When Merlin complained about being manhandled, Arthur told him he was not going to be buggered by a _servant_ , for God’s sake, that it was definitely below his station to let anyone do that to him.

Apparently though, it wasn’t below his station to lick said servant’s arse which Merlin found out when he first felt Arthur nibbling his lower back, biting his arse cheek and then, _and then!_ , warm hands pulling his cheeks apart, and a tongue on his hole. _In_ his hole. Merlin bit down his fist to keep from moaning and from begging Arthur to give him _more_ , because while Merlin was quite happy to let Arthur do this, he was not going let it be easier than it already was. Arthur’s smugness would be unbearable if he ever heard Merlin _asking_ for his cock.

There were fingers and oil and perhaps stains on the sheets, but to Merlin’s surprise, Arthur flipped him on his back again, before doing anything more.

The look Arthur gave him was heated, almost wild, and there was no way Arthur was imagining Merlin as anyone else. The eyes pierced something inside Merlin, and for a second he thought about all the things he should say. Words like _destiny_ , _same coin_ , and _more important than anything_ danced in his mind, but when he opened his mouth it was only to pull Arthur’s upper lip between his teeth while he pulled Arthur’s hips against him with his foot. 

Merlin was wrapped around Arthur’s body, biting shoulders and neck and lips, and pulling his nails across the skin of the king’s back leaving long, red stripes on it.

Merlin later found blood under his fingernails.

Before long, both of them came apart, but Merlin had no idea how long it had taken them. It felt like seconds; it felt like a lifetime. 

Afterwards they did not talk about it. When they were dressed again, Arthur only spoke to inform Merlin that he had to repair his shirt; Merlin only asked if Arthur would like to bathe now or later.

It was not the last time. Every time it happened it was unplanned and hurried and rough and left Merlin feeling guilty and used and aching. It didn’t stop him from thinking about it while pulling his own cock in the darkness of his room during the nights, though. He thought about all the things he should have said to Arthur, about all the sins he should have confessed.

But there were already too many secrets between them, too many lies, too many things they had wordlessly agreed not to talk about. _Magic_ , _marriage_ , _death_. They never spoke of feelings, they rarely used anything else than insults to describe one another. _Clotpole_ , _idiot_ , _prat_. It was just one more thing on the list.

And sometimes, when they were alone, when they were in danger, or when they wanted to offer comfort to each other, there were looks. Longer than a king should ever give anyone, longer than just friends gave each other. Those looks carried everything they thought and meant and longed to say out loud. _I couldn’t bear to lose you_ , _I believe in you_ , _you’d do the same for me_.

But what was the point of saying aloud things they already knew?

What more could they ever have than they already did?

* * *

**10**

Warnings: D/s, face fucking, small facial, can be read as dub-con  
Image(s) used: #09

Arthur disappears into the bedroom as soon as they get home. Their flat is dark and quiet, dim light from streetlamps and passing cars casting shadows over everything. Merlin stands just inside the front door and looks around, taking in the life the two of them have built over the past three years.

 _Fuck this_ , he thinks. _Fuck all of it._

He imagines saving them both – packing up his stuff, throwing it into a few bags and just walking out, leaving everything behind and forgetting it ever happened. Forgetting Arthur.

His stomach twists into a hot, hollow mess, and he doesn't move.

The light underneath the bedroom door goes out and Merlin stops breathing, closes his eyes. Counts to ten, twenty, sixty. When the door stays shut he opens his eyes and takes a stuttering breath, turns and makes his way to the tiny bathroom. He closes the door behind him but doesn't bother locking it, stripping off his clothes and dropping them onto the floor.

The pack of cigarettes is hidden at the back of a cabinet, kept there for moments like this when Merlin feels like he's going mad. There's a lighter stuffed in with them, and he holds one of the cigarettes between his lips as he lights the end, dragging in a deep lung-full of the acrid smoke.

He tosses the pack of cigarettes and the lighter back into the cabinet and reaches up to open the small, high window above the toilet. The night air is hot and heavy, and Merlin sits on the closed toilet seat, bringing his cigarette up for another drag.

His dick is rock-hard; it has been since earlier at Morgana's dinner party when Arthur had dug his fingernails sharply into Merlin's arm and whispered for him to _shut the fuck up_. It hadn't come as a surprise; Merlin had been pushing him to it all night.

Merlin reaches down and grips himself tightly, strokes almost painful. There would be no teasing, no lead in, just getting off and going to bed. His head falls back, eyes closing and cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. A low moan escapes, and he quickly loses himself in the movement of his hand.

The door suddenly slams open and Merlin jumps, letting go of his dick. Ashes from the cigarette fall, scattering over the floor, but the only thing he can see is the hard, knowing expression on Arthur's face. They stare at each other for several moments and Merlin's heart pounds against his ribcage. 

It isn't fear he's feeling.

Arthur stalks over to him, plucks the cigarette from Merlin's lips and tosses it into the sink. His hand buries into Merlin's hair and yanks hard, pulling him off the toilet and onto the floor. Merlin's knees hit the linoleum and he sucks in a sharp breath, hands curling into fists. He doesn't move.

Arthur's free hand cups his jaw, almost gentle, and his thumb curls into Merlin's mouth, pulling down until Merlin feels the joint pop.

"Get it out," Arthur says, and Merlin reaches up to tug Arthur's pajama bottoms down.

He wastes no time shoving his hard cock into Merlin's waiting mouth, tip hitting the back of his throat. Merlin struggles not to gag, choking slightly as Arthur sets up a hard, unforgiving pace. His eyes begin to water and he closes them, letting himself fall into it, digging his fingernails into his thighs because he hasn't been told he can touch.

Arthur fucks his face relentlessly, fingers twisted painfully into Merlin's hair to hold him in place. His thumb is still hooked into Merlin's mouth, slick with spit, and Merlin's jaw aches and his knees hurt but he could do this for the rest of his life.

Arthur suddenly pulls out, grunting softly, and a stripe of come lands across Merlin's tongue. Some hits his cheek and slides down his face, and Arthur lets go of his hair to grip himself, continuing to hold Merlin's mouth open. As soon as he's finished he removes his thumb, and Merlin opens his eyes to look up at him as he swallows the come in his mouth.

"Clean up," Arthur says, not meeting his eyes as he tugs his pajamas up over his hips. "Come to bed. Don't touch yourself."

Merlin bites back a frustrated groan, waiting on his knees until Arthur turns and walks out. When he's alone he slowly pushes himself up, legs trembling, and starts the shower.

* * *

**11**

Warnings: very, very slight bestiality (the dog is licking is face)  
Image(s) used: 01

“Hmm?” Merlin’s eyes fluttered open to sight of Arthur and Gwaine standing over him, wearing scarily similar smirks. On a normal day it would have been enough to startle him wide awake and ready to run for his life, but it was such a nice morning with the sun shining that all Merlin really wanted to do was go back to his nap in the grass.

Unfortunately for Merlin’s nap, Arthur and Gwaine had other plans. “Good afternoon, sunshine!” Gwaine chimed. “Having a nice time?”

“Yeah, just great, thanks,” Merlin yawned. “Did you guys want something?”

“You can’t possibly be comfortable sleeping like that,” Arthur said.

“Like… what, exactly?”

Arthur gestured, indicating Merlin’s shorts. “Sleeping in your clothes like that. You should probably take them off.”

“What?” Merlin opened his eyes all the way to try and assess Arthur’s seriousness, and realized with a jolt that Gwaine seemed to have taken Arthur’s advice, as while he and Arthur didn’t have shirts on due to the summer heat, Gwaine wasn’t wearing anything at all. Merlin gulped.

“Yes,” Arthur mused, “But you’re obviously too much of an idiot to do it yourself, so we’ll just have to help. What do you think, Gwaine?”

“Anything to help a friend,” Gwaine said with a wide grin.

Merlin got out a “What the hell…” before the two other boys pounced. Arthur grabbed Merlin’s hands and pulled, just as Gwaine tilted Merlin’s hips to pull down his shorts, giving Merlin a dizzying feeling of vertigo as he was lifted up into the air.

“Relax, Merlin,” Arthur said, laughing at Merlin’s wide eyes. “We’ve got you, haven’t we, Gwaine.”

“Oh, yeah,” Gwaine said. Merlin glanced down his body and went slightly pink at the way Gwaine was blatantly leering at Merlin’s now exposed half-hard cock. “No problems. None at all.” He licked his lips. “God, Merlin, can I…”

“What?” Merlin glanced up at Arthur, who was grinning down at him.

“Go on,” Arthur urged, holding on tighter to Merlin’s arms. “Let him, we’ve got you. We won’t let you fall.”

This was too good to be true. “Okay, do it,” Merlin said quickly, before the other boys changed their minds. Gwaine gave a blinding grin and pulled Merlin’s legs so that he was supporting them with his shoulders. While he was doing that, Arthur’s dog Cafall wandered over to see what all the fuss was about.

Merlin gave a breathy giggle as Cafall licked his face, then gasped as Gwaine’s tongue imitated the dog’s, only on his cock. Just light, teasing little licks, but the wetness his tongue left behind chilled quickly in the crisp spring air. “ _God_.” Merlin squirmed in the air, held in place by Arthur’s strong arms. “Gwaine, quit teasing already!”

Gwaine glanced up at Arthur, and receiving a nod that he could go on with it, leaned down and simply swallowed Merlin to the root.

“Ohgod!” Merlin’s hips bucked up in the air at the feeling of being so deeply sunk into the heat of Gwaine’s throat. Gwaine continued sucking, moaning around Merlin’s cock as Merlin continued to try and thrust up helplessly. He fingers dug into where they were wrapped around Arthur’s tanned arms, holding him up off the ground, and he nearly choked on the combination of moans and laughter tumbling out of his throat. “This is… so… fucking… weird…”

“But good weird?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, yea - _oh_ , Gwaine, do that aga-ain…” Merlin lost the use of his voice for a while as Gwaine set to work sucking Merlin’s brains out through his cock. After a while Cafall lost interest and wandered away, and Merlin almost missed the licks to his face until Arthur bent over and started kissing him. Oh yeah, this was much better.

It wasn’t long until Merlin gave one last strangled gasp and stiffened, Gwaine and Arthur clutching at the lithe body as he twisted in midair, his come decorating his stomach and even getting in Gwaine’s hair. They let him hang there for a second before lowering him back down onto the sun-warmed grass.

“Okay,” Merlin panted after a moment, “If that’s what I get for it, I’m taking a nap every day for the rest of the summer.” Gwaine and Arthur just laughed at him.

* * *

**12**

Warnings: dubcon  
Image(s) used: 02, 12

There was a ritual for binding a demon to a mortal, to force that demon to obey the will of one single person and have the demon's life tied to the human's.

Arthur had learned of it through the books passed down by his family, that long line of Pendragon demon hunters, and he had vowed he would never use it. "Deals with devils will only get you burned," his father had always said.

Now it was either use the ritual, or let Merlin -- how did Merlin turn out to be an incubus anyway -- die a slow death.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said as he painted another black line across Merlin's body. 

"Stop, please," Merlin begged, but he was too weak to fight Arthur off; the most he managed was to cover his naked cock with his hands. The gash across his shoulder was bleeding heavily, a mixture of dark demon blood and incubus magic.

"I'm not going to let you die."

When the lines were done, Arthur stepped back, outside the circle of blood, and stripped his clothes off. He noticed Merlin's eyes widen and his mouth open slightly. Good. If he was still hungry, he could still be saved.

Naked, Arthur carefully approached Merlin again and straddled his hips. "This is for your own good."

Merlin struggled against the kiss at first, trying to cling to that mock humanity he'd worn so well, but it was a losing battle. Arthur felt it the moment Merlin gave in to his demon nature: the kiss deepened, Merlin's tongue joined his own, and there was that faint tug on his life energy that was so common around demons.

 _Take it all_ , Arthur thought. _I'm not losing you._

When Arthur pulled away, he saw that some color had returned to Merlin's face, and his eyes were glowing gold. 

"Your taste--" Merlin moaned and brought two arms around Arthur's back, dug his nails in, raked them down Arthur's back. 

Arthur groaned. "So I've been told."

All his life he'd been trained to recognize the signs of demon's feeding off of him; he knew the ways to keep his vital energy in check, he knew how to poison the being trying to eat from his soul. It went counter to his training to allow the syphoning of energies.

Yet it didn't stop a sweet pleasure make its way down his spine. The power of incubus saliva -- one of the only true aphrodisiacs in the world. No wonder people fell to incubi so easily.

Arthur rolled his hips, pressing himself against Merlin's growing erection, which was already wet with -- well, not precome, but the incubus equivalent of it. 

"Don't--" Merlin started to say, but counter to his words he pulled Arthur into another kiss and thrust his cock between Arthur's ass cheeks. "I've resisted you for so long. Why are you doing this?" Merlin's voice was hoarse when he asked.

"Because I..." Arthur stopped himself before he could finish that sentence. This wasn't the right moment for it. Instead, he lined himself up and sank down onto Merlin's cock, hissing at the pain and thankful for those demonic secretions that eased the passage.

That seemed to break the last hold Merlin had over himself; his movements turned wild and hungry, and with every kiss he sucked out more and more of Arthur's life.

It was fascinating to watch the wound on Merlin's shoulder heal, using Arthur's energy for it. If this went on for too long, Arthur could see himself fall into the lust completely and forget the true purpose of this ritual.

He bit down hard on his lip, until he bled, then kissed Merlin. Incubus instincts had Merlin kissing back almost immediately, sucking at Arthur's lip, drinking in the blood. 

Then Merlin started convulsing. "What--"

"I'm sorry, Merlin. But you're mine now."

Arthur took in Merlin's seed, Merlin took in Arthur's blood. Tied together now, until one of them died.

Arthur didn't intend to let Merlin die before him.

* * *

**13**

Image(s) used: 03

Gwaine wandered out of the cabin in nothing but a swim cap. He figured it was one thing to go skinny dipping, it was another entirely to subject his hair to lake water. He wasn’t usually much of a morning person, but with everyone else sleeping where they passed out last night, he wanted to take advantage of some alone time before the rest of Arthur’s guests got familiar with their hangovers.

He stretched, and made his way down to the dock, where a small inflatable motorboat was moored. He could see someone’s clothes and shoes scattered like a breadcrumb trail towards the water. Apparently he wasn’t the only person that thought skinnydipping was a brilliant idea, and by the time he got to the dock he could see bare feet propped up on the bow. He’d recognize the lime-green painted toe nails anywhere.

He walked down the short ramp that served as the Pendragon family dock, and pulled gently on one of Elena’s toes. Of course it was Elena. She would be the one to leave her clothes strewn on the beach and be asleep in a boat wearing only her bra and panties.

“Hey babe, come swim with me,” he said, as she woke up and gave him a sleepy smile.

“You’re naked,” she replied.

“You’re not. You should fix that.”

“Nuh uh, it’s too early to be up. Come sleep with me.” She made a grasping hands gesture. He couldn’t deny her anything, so he climbed in the boat. As soon as they were both comfortable, Elena wrapped her hand around his cock.

“I thought you wanted to sleep,” he said with a gasp.

“Mmmm, I can sleep like this.” she said, pumping her hand slowly, her thumbnail barely scraping his slit. He huffed a laugh.

“I want to eat you out.”

She gave him a sleepy-eyed pout. “No Gwaine, I’m comfortable, I don’t want to get out of the boat yet.”

“I can do it here.” He gave her his best trust me face, but judging by her reaction she didn’t believe him at all.

“If you capsize us, I’m telling Morgana you’re the one that stole her conditioner.”

“Slander and lies, Lancelot donated it to orphans.” He raised himself up on his elbow to give him enough leverage to lean over her and kiss her, barely on the corner of her mouth, before trailing kisses down her chin and neck to the soft skin of her collarbone. “Please,” he breathed into her shoulder.

Her grip on his neck was insistent, pulling him back up to face her. She brought her mouth to his for another kiss, deep this time. When she pulled away she gave him a puzzled look. “Why are you still wearing this thing?” She said, snapping the edge of the swimcap.

“You’re going to think it’s awesome in a minute,” Gwaine promised. “Scoot around so you lean back on the prow.” He made room for her as she moved and then she was in front of him with her knees up.

Reaching for her hips, she canted them upwards, so he could pull her panties down and away. They laughed as he tossed them back over his shoulder, maybe they’d land on the dock, and maybe they’d land in the water and float away for one of their friends to find later.

Gwaine braced his elbows as best he could, feeling the slight give of the water thought the bottom of the boat. He felt particularly proud of himself for the idea to wear a swim cap while going down on her. It kept his hair out of the way and he could see her over the rise of her belly. Her eyes were shut tight and she kept reaching out for him, to grab his hair, and realizing she couldn’t, her hands were restless. She gasped out short panting breaths as he worked his tongue into her cunt.

He gripped her hips tight, holding her still, laughing as he tongued her clit. She swore colorfully under her breath, calling him names and demanding more, harder, to the left. Gwaine snorted, complying with tongue and teeth until Elena came with a shout that echoed across the lake.

He moved slowly up her body and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I didn’t capsize us” he said as he nuzzled her ear. Elena didn’t open her eyes.

“Mmmm I think I can go back to sleep now,” she said.

* * *

**14**

Warnings: possible underage  
Image(s) used: #7

Merlin is pushed back against the locker room wall with his gym shorts around his ankles and Gwaine's hand on his dick and he is almost entirely sure he's dead.

He still doesn't know what on earth possessed Mr. Pendragon, the P.E. teacher, to think archery was a necessary part of their curriculum. "What, are we some day going to be called upon to defend Albion High from siege attack and find ourselves thinking, _Well, thank God I know my way around a bow and arrow_?" he'd whispered to Gwen in line for their equipment. She'd shrugged, patted his shoulder, and said, "Just keep your eye on the target, yeah?"

He knew it was all going to end in disaster, and that's the only reason he can think of for how he could possibly be here, now, clinging to Gwaine — _Gwaine,_ of all people, Lord High Jock of all the jocks — while his teeth nip Merlin's ear and his groan sends shivers rippling down Merlin's spine.

He's dead. There's been some horrible accident and he's lying on the field probably bleeding from the head, and this is just one last, amazing fantasy that his dying brain has concocted to send him off.

"Your _hands_ , Jesus _Christ_ ," Merlin growls as Gwaine slides them under his gym shirt, callused fingers tracing his ribs and finding Merlin's nipples like they belong there. And that's where this all started, really, with Merlin taking his eyes from the target like an idiot and seeing Gwaine, standing tall like some Greek god, one hand drawing the string back to his ear while the other gripped the shaft of the bow. Merlin had had a sudden flash of what Gwaine's fingers might look like wrapped around an entirely different sort of shaft, and that's when he'd gone light-headed and had to be sent to the school nurse, because _really_ , he knew better than to try to handle a bow when his palms were all sweaty.

"Merlin," Gwaine moans against the side of his throat, and Merlin wants to see, wants to know if the sight of his fingers on Merlin's cock is anything like what he imagined it, but Gwaine keeps stroking and Merlin's eyes keep rolling back and he can't ever quite manage it. Really, though, who the hell is he to complain? "You're not hopeless. There's no trick to playing sports, anyone can. You just have to focus."

He can't, he can't, he _can't_ , not when Gwaine is taking him apart like this, piece by piece, ripping him open and shining the light on all those secret desires Merlin's kept to himself for four long years.

"Your hands shake when you're nervous."

They're trembling like pennants in a windstorm now. He can't stop. He wants this so much.

"Look at me." Gwaine's voice is suddenly sharp, and he's drawing back, drawing _away_. Merlin makes a broken noise and grabs at him. " _Look_."

Merlin forces his eyes open, gasping. And this — this is how he knows he's not dead. Because Gwaine is looking at him the way he did the target on the field earlier, eyes narrowed with a hunter's intensity. It's a look that says _You're mine, and I will have you_ , and this must be real because there is no way even in his wildest fantasies that Merlin would have ever imagined that Gwaine would turn that look on _him._

Gwaine cups the back of his neck and draws him in. His hips press forward, his cock hard in Merlin's hand. Their eyes are open and their mouths slick and Merlin shudders, holding Gwaine's gaze as he strokes through his jeans. A shock goes through Merlin and everything stills inside him. The only sound is the rasp of his breath and the beat of his heart and Gwaine's own unsteady gasps.

Merlin draws him out and wraps his fingers around Gwaine's girth. His hands are rock steady. The corners of Gwaine's eyes crease as he grins into the kiss. "Yes," he says. "Just like that. Good lad."

That would be reward enough right there, that light and that warmth. But then Gwaine's moving, a flurry of hands and kisses, pressing Merlin back against the lockers and grinding against him. When he strokes, Merlin becomes the bow, his back arching, trembling in Gwaine's grip. And when Merlin comes, painting stripes across his stomach, it's Gwaine who led him there and Gwaine who brings him back down.

* * *

**15**

Image(s) used: 8 & 12

Gwaine was a whirlwind, a gravitational force, a congenial flurry of movement and ideas that drew people in and held them close despite his many vices, and his fleeting virtues. Like many others, Merlin had been collected, pulled into Gwaine’s weird orbit and Merlin was happy to be there, spinning out of control, charmed by a rakish grin and the promise of nights tangled together, utterly besotted by laughing brown eyes and a kissable mouth.

So it wasn’t out of the ordinary when Gwaine leaned in, draped himself over Merlin’s back, his voice a shivery breath in Merlin’s ear, his cock buried deep in Merlin’s arse, his grip certain to leave bruises on Merlin’s hips as he slowly rocked in and out, and gasped, “Fuck, Merlin. So beautiful like this. Fuck, I want to paint you.”

Merlin shivered, lost in a haze of pleasure from the delicious roll of Gwaine’s hips and his sure hand stripping Merlin’s already leaking cock and Merlin would have agreed to anything if it meant _more_ and _harder_. As it was, a litany of _fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes_ tumbled from Merlin’s mouth as Gwaine fucked him, pounded in relentless until they both shuddered and came, collapsing in a sweaty heap.

Merlin didn’t know he had promised anything, chalking the statement up to Gwaine’s usual bedroom endearments, until Gwaine phoned him a week later and invited Merlin to his art studio.

Merlin obliged and was greeted by Gwaine wearing only a pair of ripped and paint-splattered shorts. He kissed Merlin hello, filthily, hands skimming under Merlin’s shirt while he guided Merlin to a clear plastic tarp in the middle of the floor.

“Thank you for coming,” Gwaine whispered into Merlin’s mouth. “I’ve been thinking about this for days.”

A jolt of anticipation went through Merlin and any reservations he had about whatever Gwaine had planned were lost in the feel of Gwaine’s eager tongue in his mouth. Merlin allowed Gwaine to divest him of his shirt and when Gwaine fumbled with Merlin’s zip, his hands trembling as he peeled the fabric down Merlin’s thighs, Merlin knew Gwaine was nervous and excited.

“Lie there,” Gwaine gasped.

The plastic was cool against Merlin’s body and his nipples hardened immediately as he spread out on his stomach, the smell of plastic and paint sharp in his nose. Gwaine straddled him, settled on the backs of his thighs. His warm palm smoothed down the length of Merlin’s spine, gentling him.

“Relax.”

Merlin melted into the tarp, rested his cheek on his forearms, submitted to being Gwaine's canvas.

The first drop of paint fell between his shoulder blades and he gasped at the cool sensation, squirmed as it rolled down his back, dripped over his side and down the sensitive skin of his ribs.

“Fucking beautiful,” Gwaine murmured.

The drops came in rapid succession then, followed by Gwaine’s hands, fingers rubbing and painting Merlin’s skin, the back of his neck, his shoulders, the swell of his arse. Merlin couldn’t see, but he could hear Gwaine’s breath stuttering as he added more color, could feel Gwaine’s cock hardening, could hear the endearments drip like splatters of paint from his mouth. Merlin had never felt more adored, more beautiful.

Merlin’s cock had swelled and he knew Gwaine could feel the tiny jerks of his hips as he sought friction, the plastic maddeningly smooth and slick beneath him.

Gwaine moved between Merlin’s spread legs. “Touch yourself.”

Merlin braced himself on one arm, arched his back, the paint now tacky and drying, pulling on his skin as he moved, rivulets still slowly rolling down his sides into the creases of his body, but he didn’t care as he snuck his other hand down to jerk his aching cock.

He felt Gwaine part his cheeks, felt the tip of a thumb against his hole before it was replaced with a hot, wet tongue. Merlin moaned, wanton and low as Gwaine laved at his hole, enthusiastically fucked him with his tongue. Merlin knew he couldn’t last long, not with the warring sensations of cool paint and Gwaine’s warm mouth eating him out. He came, shouting, trembling, come splashing over the tarp.

Merlin slumped onto the plastic, sated, not caring about the mess below or above him.

He felt Gwaine move again, heard his deep, breathy moans, and the familiar, rhythmic slip-slide of a cock fucking a fist, then felt Gwaine’s warm come splash on his back and mix with the drying paint.

* * *

**16**

Warnings: Dub-con  
Image(s) used: 06.

Percival was feeling quite drunk, but not too drunk to realize that this was actually happening. Merlin was sitting in his lap. In a bra, lipstick, and… were those stockings? He began to feel a bit alarmed, and tried to push Merlin gently away, ever the gentleman, but Merlin stopped him with a surprisingly-strong hand.

“Put your hands on me,” he said, slowly grinding onto Percival’s stiffening cock. “I want you to. Arthur wants you to.”

It was only then that Percival noticed Arthur sitting coolly in a corner of the room, his eyes dark, palm rubbing circles on the crotch of his jeans. 

“Make him come, Merlin.” Arthur sounded commanding, lusty. It gave him an involuntary shiver.

“Mmmhm.”

Merlin smiled, his lips a garish red. Yet they suited his plush, cock-sucking lips. Percival had a fleeting thought that he really shouldn’t be thinking of his friend this way, but his limits were being sorely tested.

Merlin leaned over to kiss him, smearing the colour over both their mouths, his tongue insistently pushing at Percival’s mouth till he gave in. Their hands came around each other and the tight, hot friction of the nylon stockings on his bare cock was a shocking stimulation that made him groan, the sound guttural in his throat.

To his left, Arthur had his jeans around his knees, one hand cradling his balls, the other slowly thumbing the slit of his fully-erect cock. 

It was surreal, to say the least.

“I want your cock,” Merlin said, and reached under a pillow to retrieve a condom. He ripped it open, holding the foil packet with his clenched jaw, mouth ruined and red and _stark_ against the white of his teeth. Then he slipped it on, fingers brushing against Percival’s balls, hovering a little too long for it to be entirely by accident.

“Or perhaps your balls,” he said. And promptly bent down to suck softly at the skin where it had drawn up, tight. Percival could only gasp as his fingers clenched on the bedsheets, struggling valiantly not to give in to the urge of fisting his hands in Merlin’s hair.

Arthur, who had been mostly silent up till now, got up abruptly and clambered onto the bed. He held Merlin’s stockinged calves and pulled them apart, and then pulled down the elastic band of both his panties and stockings slowly, catching on his cock, the fabric wet with patches of pre-come. With a sudden, quick tug, Merlin’s cock sprung out, and he moaned around Percival’s balls, causing vibrations which made his head spin. 

The heat in the room was stifling. The air was pungent with the smell of sex, the sound of the slick slide of fingers loud, slippery with lube over their pricks. They had changed positions, Percival thrusting into Merlin’s tight heat in an odd staccato.

Merlin’s stockings had been pulled down to his ankles earlier, and Percival palmed his freshly-shaved thighs curiously. It was hairless, like a girl’s legs, and it made him flush to know that Merlin had… prepared for this. He didn’t actually understand why this was happening, but he was fond of Merlin, and all of them were consensual, so he allowed himself to go along with it.

“Your cock feels so thick and good in me,” Merlin said, body shaking like a leaf. 

“Your mouth, Merlin…” Percival mumbled, embarrassed, though he couldn’t deny it was an incredible turn-on as well. 

He turned to look at Arthur, who came over to occasionally position Merlin and whisper soft encouragements to him, but otherwise kept to his corner, jeans off now. He was pulling languidly at his cock, his eyes seemingly focused on the way Merlin’s greedy arse took Percival’s in. It was disconcerting, but the crawling feeling of being watched somehow made him want to perform better, make Merlin cry out louder.

With that thought, he angled himself with every hard thrust. Merlin was wailing now, pulling on his cock with almost painfully-fast speed until he juddered and came, strands of white, milky come spattering all over his stomach and bra. Percival came not long after, gripping Merlin’s hips with a force that left angry, red marks. 

Shortly after, a soft groan sounded from Arthur’s corner. 

“Happy birthday, Merlin,” Arthur said softly. Merlin beamed.

* * *

**17**

Image(s) used:02

She dresses in black leather before she goes out, but it's only once she reaches the club that she adds the cat ears and settles into the easy grace of the predator. Of the dozen guys watching her, she singles out her victim right away. Rich boy looks like he hasn't been taken down in way too long, maybe not ever. Freya smiles.

*

She was on her way here when she met Merlin last month. Two assholes on the subway were giving her shit about her short skirt and knee-high boots, and Freya was just about ready to show them her knife when this skinny, pretty, and apparently unarmed kid stood up and said, "Guys, that's enough."

 _The fuck_ , Freya thought, he has no idea what he's getting into. But somehow it worked. The guys laughed, called him a few names, but he just stared at them with a weird, calm little smile until they subsided into, "Jeez, can't even take a fucking joke."

He nodded at her once, like he hadn't just done magic in front of her, and went back to reading his book.

She got off two stops early so she could follow him, tap his shoulder, and offer to buy him a drink. 

*

"What's your name, boy?" she says when she gets him alone.

"Arthur." 

"Oh, perfect. Take off your shirt, there's a pretty princess. Quickly now – when I get impatient things get torn."

He hesitates, she tugs, and a button goes flying. Then she takes in the sight of him: blond and baby-faced, broad and built, like something out of her mom's porn. Nice.

She reaches over his shoulder and drags her nails up his back. He sucks in deep breaths as she rests her curled hand on his shoulder and hisses, "Do you like pussy, Princess?"

" _Yes_. I – mistress? What's your – what should I call you?"

"Call me monster, and tell me how much you like it. Better yet, show me."

* 

She never made it to the club that night. After four hours of coffee and conversation they called a cab. "My roommate's away this weekend," said Freya. "Want to come up?" said Freya. 

"No thanks." He smiled and waved goodnight. _Weirdo._

Three days later he invited her for a walk in the botanical gardens.

On their third date they bought vegetables at the farmers market and he talked about wanting to live in the country. Freya had to laugh – was he going to want to get married before he ever got around to fucking her?

On the fourth date he kissed her, and when he drew away she caught a tear falling down his cheek.

Freya's used to making men cry. Get them to beg and then tell them no. Find out what they _really_ want.

But this boy, this beautiful boy truly wants to hold her hand. And God help her, right now she just wants to tell him yes.

She finds herself going soft around him: quiet words, shy smiles. She borrows Gwen's purple dress and practices her mannerisms in the mirror: bowing her head, biting her lip. 

What a fucking _rush_ , turning herself into a nice girl for this nice boy. She hasn't felt so free and powerful in years, since she started sharpening her claws and spreading her wings in the night.

The monster can make herself new any time she wants. She can even be this.

*

"Take your dick out. I want to know whether you're even worth my time."

Arthur is, she decides: hard and thick and eager, struggling to keep from thrusting forward into his own hand. 

"Hands behind your back," she barks, and then purrs, " _Let go_ , you greedy slut."

The flush on his cheeks is as lovely as the jerk of his cock. Yes, she thinks happily, Freya is still this too.

*

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me."

"Of course there are," says Merlin.

He buys her flowers, chocolates and strawberries. He lights candles in his bedroom. 

"Is this okay?" he asks, rocking his hardness against her through the layers of fabric they haven't taken off.

"It's okay, it's okay," she chants. "It's okay, it's perfect."

*

"May I, Monster?"

"No." She slaps his hands away. "Just your mouth for now." She'll take his cock later, but he doesn't need to know that. She lifts her skirt and grabs his head, pushes her cunt against his hot tongue.

"Good boy," she says, "that's just how I like it, that's good."

* * *

**18**

Image(s) used:#06, with a bit of #02.

He sits at the back because that’s where he started out once, tagging along with the birthday boy, interested in celebrating only; now Merlin hasn’t missed a performance in months. Her voice isn’t perfect, a shade too heavy, but once she’s on stage, it’s impossible to look away.

He sits at the back, because then at least she won’t glare at him the _whole_ time; it’s always like that, ever since Merlin has proven he’s the only person capable of tripping over someone else’s evening dress. After, she’ll smile at everyone and scowl at him, which is his cue to buy her a drink. 

She has too strong a jawline underlining an irresistibly pouty red mouth. She doesn’t talk much about herself; Merlin tells her everything, punctuated by her snarky comments and bracketed by her smirks. He gives as good as he gets; he doesn’t remember the last time he had so much fun before he met her. 

She gives away more than she means to in her eagerness to scoff at him. He’s sure she does something in business, which surprises him, and that the club belongs to her father, which surprises him even more. Mostly, he learns to read the nuances of her tone, the tired lines of her face.

He never gives her flowers like some do. He doesn’t tell her Saturdays are the highlight of his week, because then he’ll have to think too much about this, though mostly because he suspects she might never speak to him again. So he walks away, every time, and just lets himself grin at the ceiling, feeling hot all over, when he lies in alone in his bed after their evenings together.

Except sometimes, when he’s very, very lucky, and she’s too tired or too pleased, he gets to touch her. Well, almost. What it comes down to is that she will shove him down on some surface somewhere not entirely public and fuck herself on his cock, muttering _shut up, shut up, shut up_ and making Merlin feel like he will burst with sheer want. It’s really rather unfair: Merlin usually ends up shirtless with his slacks somewhere around his ankles, and she will take off her stockings almost primly, step back into her high-heeled pumps, and straddle him with her dress draped over them. 

Merlin wants to touch her everywhere: run his fingers over her heavily made up face, mouth at the solid thighs he sometimes catches a glimpse of, even though they probably shouldn’t turn him on as much as they do; he knows her breasts aren’t real, but he still wants to feel them, or maybe burrow underneath them to suck on her nipples.

But she pins him down, and he doesn’t think about how she shouldn’t be able to do that. She snaps at him when he tries to reach out, _Do I need to fucking tie you down?_ , rude as she otherwise never is, and it sends a jolt through him.

He always fights her, can’t help himself, tries to bury his face in her neckline where she smells so nice. The first time, he thought he’d ruined it, but now he rather thinks she likes it, even as she pulls on his hair and pinches his nipples in retribution, and Merlin moans too loudly in the shabby dressing room.

Sometimes, she’ll climb off him after and turn her back to him; lately, she’ll grope herself through her dress and make it go wet all through, while Merlin stares and stares. Except.

Except last week, when she looked so exhausted, and she let him struggle against the grip of her hand and kiss her for too long before moving on, and after, after, she came all over his stomach. For a moment, she rubbed it into his skin, before stumbling off him, rubbing her mouth tiredly, looking away; it felt strange but mostly it made Merlin’s heart beat too loudly. 

Merlin thinks he’s tired, too, tired of waiting for he doesn’t know what, tired of being afraid, tired of missing her when she’s reduced to the ache of healing scratches on his back during the week.

She always gives away more of herself than she intends to, and it’s surprisingly easy to track her down. The sun is as just as kind to the golden, shorter hair, and dress trousers do wonders for those thighs. 

He takes a deep breath, steps forward, stretches out his hand, says, “Hello, Arthur,” and lets everything happen.

* * *

**19**

Image(s) used: 08

Morgana sighed, rubbing her temples. “ _Next_!” she snapped.

The door opened, and Merlin ushered in the next model. “I’m sure you’ll like this one,” he said brightly.

“You said that the last three times,” Morgana said, glaring at him. She eyed the newest model warily. If this one so much as giggled, snorted, or pouted like the others, Morgana would have Merlin’s head.

Merlin held up his hands defensively. “This time I mean it,” he insisted. He nodded to the model, who smiled shyly back at him. “This is Freya.” 

“All right,” Morgana said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Freya nodded almost imperceptibly and walked to the bed. All traces of shyness gone, she positioned herself in front of the camera and disrobed, but instead of looking at the lens, she kept her gaze steadily on Morgana. 

Morgana looked her over critically: pale skin and dark hair to contrast against the colours, good. Smooth shoulders, broad back curving into a small waist and slim hips for enough of a canvas to work with, better. Breasts not too full, enough of an arse to show the camera the shape of her curves, excellent.

“I suppose you’ll do for now,” Morgana told her brusquely, and stepped behind the camera to adjust the lens with unsteady fingers.

*

Freya didn’t flinch once, even as Merlin dripped hot candle wax onto her back. She kept remarkably calm, never taking her eyes away from Morgana while she worked.

Morgana squinted through the lens and adjusted the focus once more, digging her nails into her palms in frustration. The play of coloured wax was supposed to be the focal point of the shot, but Morgana couldn’t concentrate, her gaze drawn away from the vivid colours to Freya’s face instead. 

Freya looked back at Morgana serenely, motionless as Merlin added more layers of wax to her back. 

“Like this?” Merlin asked, drizzling a few more drops of the crimson.

Morgana bit her lip as she watched the wax slide slowly down Freya’s back. Morgana stepped from behind the camera and strode to the bed, feeling Freya’s gaze follow her movements. She took the crimson candle gently from Merlin’s hands, switching it for the royal blue. Her arm paused in the air, waiting, as the candle flame flickered.

A hint of a smile appeared on Freya’s face as she looked up at Morgana. 

“No, like this,” Morgana said, not looking away, and flicked the wax expertly onto Freya’s pale skin. 

Freya, who had remained still for hours during the set-up, let out a quiet gasp, arching her back in pleasure. 

“Merlin—” Morgana began, her voice rough.

“—is leaving, yeah,” Merlin finished for her, and ducked quickly out of the room.

Freya smiled up at her again as the door closed. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that for hours,” she said, the first words Morgana heard her speak.

Morgana stared down at the dark eyes that had haunted her all afternoon. She took Freya firmly by the shoulders, rolling her over onto her back—ruining all of the afternoon’s work—and kissed her. 

Freya sighed softly against her lips as Morgana glided her hands down the textured surface of Freya’s back, feeling the wax crackle and bend underneath her fingers. Morgana trailed her mouth and lips against Freya’s breasts, closing her mouth around a nipple, hearing Freya gasp again. She skimmed the curves of Freya’s shoulders, waist, hips, breasts, and arse: all the parts that her painter’s eye had seen, that her hands had ached to touch. 

Morgana breathed in, savouring the lingering hint of smoke in the air mixed with scent of their arousal, and put her mouth between Freya’s legs, sliding her tongue into the taste of seawater and heat.

*

“I knew you’d like her,” Merlin said smugly when Morgana had finally called him back into the room. He paused and looked at his watch. “But what are we going to do about the shoot?”

Morgana rolled onto her back and pulled Freya on top of her, tangling their wax-covered bodies and dark hair together. Freya giggled, but Morgana couldn’t find it in her to mind. Instead, she looked pointedly at the camera, then at Merlin challengingly. “You’ve been my assistant long enough—you _do_ know how to work that thing, right?” she asked him.

Grinning, Merlin stepped behind the camera to line up the shot.

* * *

**20**

Image(s) used: 12

There isn’t an inch of Arthur that’s clean. There isn’t even a spot of exposed skin, except maybe his eyelids, that’s not covered in mud. It’s striped across his naked abdomen, gouged into the lines of muscle there like sword wounds. It has plastered his matted hair to his forehead in the shape of a helmet in dirty brown, and it drips in clumps that land with dull thunks onto his knees.

Arthur sits in the middle of his room, broad shoulders hunched, the tendons in his neck strained. Both elbows rest to the filth-caked cloth at his thighs. Though his shirt was torn off during the fistfight after his joust, he still wears his ripped, sopping trousers and his scraped leather boots. There is a puddle that surrounds his chair; Merlin thinks he will be blamed for this later, for allowing Arthur to sit there in such a state.

The mood is tenuous at best as Merlin steps into the bedroom. It’s been like this since well before Arthur left for the rain-soaked jousting tournament this morning. Arthur does not look at him, but Merlin knows he’s aware of his presence by the shift in his posture, how every muscle stiffens in response to Merlin’s telltale footsteps. The storm outside will not cease, a crash of thunder sounding the lightning that brightens the otherwise darkened room, illuminating Arthur in shadowed relief before he is drenched in darkness again.

“You won.” Merlin forces a smile, because they must go on, even if Arthur hates him. “I knew you would, of course.”

They used to be able to joke like this. Since he confessed himself and revealed his magic, Arthur has not said one word to Merlin. And that is nothing to how it feels when their eyes meet and Arthur’s usual warm gaze is vacant with bitterness. Still, Merlin will go through the motions. Until Arthur wants him dead or simply wants him; it’s in Arthur’s hands now.

“I knew that even a little rain couldn’t stop you, and I told Gaius that-”

“You are my servant,” Arthur states. His words are so abrupt and so low that hearing them chills Merlin’s skin.

Merlin doesn’t know if he should respond, but when Arthur looks up and their eyes meet, he knows he must. “Yes... Of course I’m-”

“You’re _my servant_ ,” Arthur repeats. That he cut Merlin off means he wants to talk. Merlin will listen. Rising, Arthur gestures to himself. “I’ve been waiting for you. In this state. You’re my servant, and I need to bathe.”

Merlin is so relieved that they are talking that he forgives Arthur’s tone. Immediately, he moves to the bath that he prepared earlier. He doesn’t have to hide the spell that heats the water. Arthur doesn’t look pleased, but he remains quiet as Merlin approaches and kneels. Merlin reverently removes Arthur’s boots one by one, his socks, then his fingers are on Arthur’s laces and Arthur’s hand stops his progress.

There is a familiar look in Arthur’s eyes. The bitterness is replaced with... Merlin can’t be sure, but _fuck_ he has missed that look.

“Sire?” he whispers. Arthur’s fist clenches tighter at his wrist, and Merlin wants so badly for Arthur to go on and do it, like they used to - just throw him onto the bed and make him weep for mercy. Arthur is quiet, though, so Merlin provokes him. He tenderly draws Arthur’s trousers and pants down in one smooth motion and nuzzles his face against the muddy planes of his wet body. “I’m yours,” he breathes, watching gooseflesh bubble over Arthur’s skin. “Your servant, your friend, your lover - _yours_.” Merlin licks the coils of hair just above Arthur’s prick and reaches under to cup his king’s balls.

That does it. In one unearthly motion, Arthur has Merlin face down on his bed and Arthur’s mud-soiled body rests heavy atop him. Arthur’s previously soft prick is hardening; Merlin shudders as he feels it sliding between his cheeks. Merlin’s about to whisper a spell to ease the way when Arthur yanks at his hair.

“ _Don’t_.” Author's voice is otherworldly in Merlin’s ear, an impatient whine that says more than Arthur ever can. “Don’t ever keep things from me, Merlin.”

“I won’t.” Merlin’s throat is tight, his chest tighter, relief flooding his bones.

Arthur’s mouth is on his neck, hot hands kneading his skin, yanking his clothes. Together, they are a mess; undone.

Merlin whispers the spell; Arthur lets him.

* * *

**21**

Warnings: Incest  
Image(s) used: 3

He hisses, and lifts his foot from the cool sand to dig a shard of a shell from his sole. 

"About time." The voice comes like the water had, wrapping him in shocking coolness and spitting him out.

He's expecting a dark look when he looks up, though he doesn't know the voice, nor the woman before him. Still, it surprises him that her expression is only wry, not fierce, not heartbreaking. He wonders how long had she waited.

"Long enough," she says, and chuckles. "He'll be so mad he missed your coming." 

"Where is he?" He doesn't remember a name to ask after, but his chest clenches and he must know now, where--where--

"Merlin's been waiting for you. Now it's your turn." A wind, whipping about them, tosses her hair before her face and conceals her expression. Her voice doesn't betray much when she says, "He'll be along in time. That's my fault, a bit. But I…he made sure I'd be here. I've been waiting, too."

He steps forward, the stinging of sharp stones a relief after the blankness of…years? Eons, perhaps. "I've missed you." He still doesn't know her, except that he must, because the words burst forth like he's been holding them in a long time. 

She pushes her long hair from her face. "Morgana," she says. "I was your sister."

"Was?" He is distracted by her eyes, which are bright, crinkling at the edges. She is not an old woman, but something about those eyes strikes him as weathered. She has felt time.

"An old woman, am I?" she asks of him, amused. "Yes. Was. You're a child of Avalon now, I suppose. Reborn." She says it like a bored child recites a lesson. 

"Am I different?" He looks down at himself, flexing his hands before him. He wears no clothes, but feels not shame, just--strangeness. He could be a different person, for all he knew of his own body, though he feels comfortable enough in the skin.

"You look much the same to me. Younger, a bit. Like--like before. Everything." She lays a hand upon his cheek. And that is a familiar thing, even more than the rest. It is just as Morgana had done when they were children. He would fall asleep with her stories falling on his ears, into his dreams, of brave men in battles. 

She’d still done that sometimes, when he left for his first patrol, or for tournaments. Then she had fallen out of the habit, as she had later fallen out of the habit of loving him, without him noticing, until it was too late to get back. He had thought it often near the end, seeing Morgana's army's fires flickering across the battlefields, when bitterness had become as familiar a companion as any knight at his table. Yes. It is all familiar. He misses her with fresh desperation.

"I did love you," Morgana says. "Only, for a while, I hated you more." Her lips curve when he blinks at her. He feels her memories against his, the warmth and misery. "We’re naked in all ways here." 

He turns her palm up in his and presses his lips there. "You’re not." She lets him, so he mouths at her palm, at her wrist. When he lowers her down to he sand, she sighs like years and grief are slipping off her white shoulders with the cloth he parts, until she is bare underneath him.

She looks very white spread across her deep green robes, in the pale light of the long dawn. He dips his fingers into her, crooking them deep and circling his thumb round and round her clit until her chest flushes pink.

She rakes five pink lines down his chest to match, grasps his cock in her other hand. He hadn’t even noticed it grow hard. "Now," she murmurs into his ear, and bites down on the lobe. He spans her round hips with his hands, pressing into the skin there, warm and close. He holds her there as he slides into her. They gasp together, rhythm matched, finally, and it's the first thing that’s not familiar--it's brand, brand new.

* * *

**22**

Image(s) used:02

**They Will All Know**

Merlin dragged his feet tiredly towards Gaius's chambers and sighed, it's been a long day and he was worried about Arthur. 

He opened the door to their rooms quietly and froze; his magic sprang to life and rose to the edge of his skin, reacting to something in the room. He managed to take another step before something moved and he was pinned to the door, his face pressed to the hard wood and something hot and hard pressed all along his back.

"Wha-" He began to ask when he heard a growl from the thing that had him pinned.

"You reek of someone else." The voice, Arthur's voice, Merlin realized, growled in his ear as Arthur pressed harder against him and Merlin gasped, feeling the hard length of Arthur's cock pressing against him.

Something was very wrong.

Merlin suppressed a shiver and tried to move only to have his hands gripped in a tight hold and a growl snarled again.

"Why do you reek of someone else Merlin?" The prince asked in a rough voice.

"I- I don't- Arthur it's-" Arthur swung him around and Merlin's eyes widened when he saw Arthur's black eyes.

"Arthur are you-"

"You are mine!" Arthur snarled in his face and moved closer, his mouth hovering above Merlin's and his eyes staring into Merlin's widened ones.

"And I'm going to make sure you won't forget it," He moved even closer and took a deep breath. "I'm going to mark you Merlin, so that everyone will know you are mine."

With that he swung Merlin up on his shoulder and moved towards Merlin's room, Merlin only had enough time to think that it's probably that bite and fuck yes do before he was dropped on his bed.

Merlin watched with glazed eyes as Arthur took off his cloths, his eyes sweeping over every piece of skin that reveled to him, when he reached Arthur's erect cock his eyes grew impossibly wide.

"Arthur? Is that-" Merlin swallowed thickly as he took in the swollen knot at the base of Arthur's cock, his own body and magic tingling with anticipation even as his mind realized that the bite had some very disturbing changes.

Arthur smirked and climbed on top of him. "Like what you see Merlin?" He growled again and pulled off Merlin's cloths while Merlin nodded mutely.

"Good, because tonight will be the end of all these stupid men who thinks they can take you away from me." Arthur bit on his neck and licked it better. "You. Are. Mine." He punctuated every word with a brutal thrust against Merlin's hip while his hands roamed over Merlin's body, leaving red marks in their wake. 

Merlin's mind was hazy with lust and his magic acted on impulse, wetting his tight passage and sending a wave of his arousal into the air, Arthur froze and stared at him, his eyes impossibly dark as he smirked, feral and possessive.

"I knew it." He said and leaned down to bite at Merlin's earlobe while his hands sought Merlin's wet opening. "Even your magic knows we are meant for each other."

He sunk his fingers into Merlin's scorching heat and kissed him, hard, his tongue fucking his mouth in imitation to what he was going to do and Merlin moaned, low and broken as his hips rose and followed Arthur's fingers.

"So eager for me…" Arthur mumbled happily against his skin as he pulled his fingers out and directed his cockhead to Merlin's hole, his eyes seeking Merlin's. "Ready?" He asked and Merlin nodded.

Arthur's cock slipped in without a stutter and Merlin keened at the feeling, of being full and stuffed and- "God Arthur!" Merlin breathed out as Arthur started thrusting in earnest.

"Mine. Mine. Mine." Arthur growled repeatedly as he thrusted in, in, in. Dragging a scream from Merlin as he came.

Merlin was floating in a contented haze when he noticed Arthur was still pushing in, his knot catching on his rim and Merlin relaxed his muscles, the knot slipping in and Arthur groaned in ecstasy as he started thrusting again, pushing his knot deeper into Merlin's body before he came.

As they lay tied together in the dark, Merlin's body pressed tightly against Arthur's as he laid soft kisses on his neck.

"I'm yours, you know." Merlin whispered, holding Arthur's hand closer to his heart.

"I know," Arthur sighed and moved his hips a bit, testing the knot. "But now they will all know."

* * *

**23**

Image(s) used: 01

**Courage, Strength, Magic, and I Guess You Can Count the Dog**

Arthur was never sure if Gwen was being serious or whether she was being her usual self and trying to pull him along. A dog? What need did he have for a dog? He already had one.

Merlin stumbled up beside him, nearly knocking into him, or, would have nearly knocked in to him had the man trying to get around him not shoved him smack into his back. He rounded on him, "Merlin. Honestly, how many times..."

"Sorry, Sorry. I tripped..."

Arthur stared at him, "No you didn't."

Merlin's eyes darted back and forth, "Yes I did."

Arthur sighed, "No. You didn't! I saw the man push you in to me you idiot."

He smiled guiltily, "you saw that...?"

"YES! My god, Merlin. Why is that so difficult?!"

And that was when he got the idea. It was beyond evil…who would help him with such a thing?

They had made it far outside the borders of Camelot when it came to him. Gwen was standing not two feet away from a scraggly haired familiar face. A knight that would not claim himself.

“Gwaine!” Merlin cried, walking completely around Arthur and up to him with that stupid smile of his.

“Well look who it is.”

“Arthur,” Gwen began, but he stopped her.

“Guennivere, you asked for me way out here just to see a dog?”

“I thought it was proper that Gwaine be here.”

Arthur glanced at him, “And why is that?”

Gwaine seemed to ignore him as he chatted away with Merlin.

“He’s the one with the dog” she said, speaking naturally as if it were obvious.

Arthur was still watching Merlin and Gwaine go on like best friends. Wasn’t it odd that they got along that well? It bothered him for some reason. Not that he cared who he became friends with, Gwaine was a good man, a noble knight if he would simply claim it. But what was he talking about?

He glanced back at Gwen, “Well, where is it then?”

She looked up at him with pursed lips, and he could tell she was not at all impressed with him, but still she nodded her head stubbornly and went to fetch the creature.

“Merlin.”

Merlin and Gwaine stopped and turned to stare at him, “Go around back and get a barrel of water for me.”

He gave him a peculiar look and Gwaine shared it with him, “for what?”

“Just do it!”

Merlin rocked on his heels but left Gwaine, “Alright, fine.”

When he’d disappeared Gwaine stepped a little closer to him, “You’re hard on him.”

Arthur chuckled a grin, but it turned into his serious self-assuring face, “He needs it.”

Gwaine raised his eyebrow, “uh-huh.”

Arthur ignored him at first. Should he do this? Would he be able to do it without Gwen seeing? Unlikely…

“Come with me. I need you service briefly.”

When they’d rounded the house and Arthur had explained everything Gwaine approached him, laughing at how confused the look on his face was. The dog was jumping up on him and wagging his tail to get his attention but he was looking beyond it even as his fingers ran through its fur.

Arthur circled around behind him, making it look much like hounds on a piece of meat.

“He’s having you on, Merlin, there’s no barrel. No water.”

“What?” Merlin stared at him and then turned suddenly to find Arthur inches from his face, “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Go!!” Arthur shouted and grabbed Merlin’s wrists, pulling them back and over his head.

Gwaine followed suit and grabbed at his legs, pulling him up off his feet. The dog yipped and barked excitedly as it ran around the three of them. Within moments they had him stripped and the dog came up, nosing his body with his cold nose. Merlin fought with them but the dog left him in a mess of laughter, the same laughter that had engulfed Arthur and Gwaine. 

“Let go!” he cried, and nearly yelped when the dogs wet nose sniffed at his ear and started running around and barking again in excitement. 

Arthur went down on his knees and pressed himself against Merlin, working his own pants free. Gwaine held the wizard from the front and had already guided his hand to Merlin’s cock. 

Arthur’s fingers worked themselves in to Merlin’s hole.

Merlin cried out.

The dog barked.

Arthur slid his cock full into him.

Gwaine stroked their cocks together.

And soon the three were lost.

“Oh my!”

* * *

**24**

Image(s) used: 02, 07

Arthur managed not to snarl out a curse but it was a near thing. It was a near near thing. Arwyn was watching him with something malicious shining across his face as Arthur lined up the shot. 

_“They_ say _you’re the best.” His pink mouth turned up into a cruel little frown and Arthur reminded himself that he was a Prince and that putting up with Arwyn, he came from fertile lands to the south with a long tradition of trading that both kings hoped would continue to the next generation._

_“I am the best in Camelot.” Arthur said with a sharp smile he’d learned from his father on his worst days._

_“Prove it.”_

It was a humid and windless day. He was all too aware of the tension in the bow, it matched the tension in his chest, with everything pulled so tight it was half a breath from breaking and shattering like spun glass. Merlin stared placidly at him, back against the wooden wall all that nervous energy stilled. He stared at Merlin’s eyes; they snapped too-blue in the afternoon familiarly defiant in the face of Arthur and his bow.

Between one breath and the next he let the arrow fly. It landed with a wet **twack** burying in the wood through the apple that had been balanced in the ridiculous nest of Merlin’s hair. _He never blinked and his eyes never flicked from blue_. Merlin collapsed that ridiculous grin stretching his face out and Arthur stalked away before he could say anything he’d regret.

\--

Arthur was furious, he bit at Merlin’s jaw and it didn’t help any. He wanted to shake Merlin until he stopped being such an _idiot_. It wasn’t a new sentiment but Arthur wasn’t used to feeling helpless. Merlin whined, breath hitching as Arthur’s fingers curled trying to push deeper and deeper. Maybe he could fuck his frustration into Merlin’s body, make him see the things he did that made Arthur crazy. 

“You. Idiot.” Arthur bit out, his own breath was coming fast and sharp and it shouldn’t possible to be this hard while being this angry; it seemed like a paradox. He pulled his fingers free and Merlin mewled, back bowing so he could push his hips down, eager to follow him and Arthur’s stomach clenched. Merlin was so shamelessly desperate for it. 

“What?” Merlin bit out, his eyes wild, he surged up at him. They tussled for a bit, rolling naked across Arthur’s bed, Merlin’s nails digging into his shoulders and fighting dirty. Arthur finally pinned him down, wrapping his hands around Merlin’s wrists and using it to hold him still. Merlin jerked once, twice before he went limp, mouth going soft and open eyes totally unfocused. 

“You.” Arthur growled, resting his weight on Merlin’s wrists so he could get between his legs, slim thighs spread easily for him. “Why didn’t you do anything? Why didn’t you use your magic?” Arthur was confident in his skills, but an apple on Merlin’s head wasn’t an acceptable bet. 

“What? When?” Merlin mouthed the words like he was kissing them. 

“The apple.” He hissed. 

“I trust you.” Merlin said, looking into Arthur’s eyes as he tugged on his wrists pointedly. There was no give until Arthur caught his meaning and dropped them right away, the skin was reddened from being held so tightly. A little more and he’d have such pretty bruises.

“That’s not the same.” Arthur replied as evenly as he could manage. 

“It is.” Merlin grabbed at his shoulder, nails digging into the scratches he had already left there to get his attention. “It is because _I choose it_.” 

Arthur laughed weakly; Merlin really didn’t get this whole regency thing at all. Still some of the anger bled away, replaced with the tangled knot of feelings that was purely Merlin; shocked arousal, an inexplicable wave of possessiveness, and that little voice in his head that was never quite satisfied that he had enough. _Mine mine mine._

He grabbed Merlin around the thigh, making him spread wider so he could guide himself inside one-handed. Merlin’s beck arched into a long line as he was filled; Arthur pushed, keeping Merlin wide open so he could press as deeply as he could possibly be. Breathing hard as he bit his lips raw against all sorts of filthy promises, just holding and watching the way his cock stretched Merlin around him. 

“Please.” Merlin begged raggedly.

* * *

**25**

Warnings: Some consensual pain play, restraints.  
Image(s) used: #1, #2, #3, #5, #6, #8, #11, #12

Art school and hands-on experience, both, have taught Merlin—art student and world-class lover—that there are several very easy routes to happiness.

**1\. Lines**

It's an accident and a blessing, really. It's the beginning.

"Oh god!" Freya says. "I haven't hurt you, have I?"

Merlin peers back at the dark scratches down his shoulder and says, "Not really. It's fine."

What that actually turns out to mean is, do you want to do it again, maybe?

**2\. Shading**

"You're crazy, mate," Gwaine says smearing the paint across Merlin's collarbones with his thumb. "Stay still. You do know this stuff will be stuck in your cracks for ages?"

"I know," Merlin says, admiring his hands. One is pale and one shimmers black.

Gwaine says nothing for a minute, but then grips Merlin by the jaw. "Fuck me if it isn't hot on you though," he says, and kisses Merlin thoroughly.

**3\. Color**

"I can't tell if you're really a masochist or just an artist," Morgana says idly, a different colored candle in each hand.

"All good artists are a bit of both," Merlin says into his folded arms—and then shudders, moaning as a wash of burning heat dribbles down the small of his back.

"That was the orange," Morgana tells him.

"I liked that one," Merlin mumbles, the inside of his head all fuzzy.

**4\. Starting over**

"You're sure you're okay?" Lancelot asks, manhandling Merlin into the shower. Merlin has red rope burns on both wrists and under his arms, and his arse is deliciously sore. He's higher than a kite, and melts into Lancelot's arms the instant they are both under the spray.

"Merlin?" Lancelot asks again, but Merlin just hums and kisses him, lush. Lancelot kisses him back, and it's so wonderful that Merlin can't help but laugh, first into Lancelot's open mouth and then into the bright, steamy air.

**5\. Freedom**

"Just like that," Arthur says. "Yes—there!"

Merlin lets his arms dangle above his head. The breeze is wonderful on his skin. Arthur's shutter clicks. Merlin smiles, and it clicks again.

**6\. Nice clothes**

"I want to see you in them," Mithian says. Her ankles cross demurely, but in the grey suit trousers she still looks casually powerful. "Do put them on."

Flushing, Merlin adjusts himself in the lace knickers. Mithian's eyes gleam like a wolf's, he imagines. He almost wishes the knickers were red.

Carefully, he bends and presses his toes into the bunched up opening of the stocking. He aligns the seam with great care, sliding them up his legs.

He always wants to be perfect. This, like everything, is art.

**7\. Chaos**

The feeling of six hands on your body is one that everyone should experience, Merlin thinks with what remains of his brain. He is furiously, achingly hard and will have sand in everything by the time this is through, but he has never cared much about such things.

"Off," Gwaine grits, tugging at Merlin's briefs, and then they slide away, and are gone as if they've never been. All four of them are naked in the beach light, and Elyan's mouth is first on Merlin's cock, hot and subtle and smooth, before he realizes it.

"Oh god, god," Merlin pants, wrenching at Percival's grip on his wrists. He is perfectly immovable, just as Merlin likes it, so he struggles as hard as he can, imagining the flex of his muscles and of Percival's, counterbalanced.

His arse takes two cocks and five fingers, and his mouth takes kisses, kisses.

The trails in the sand afterward—the major goal of this exercise—are almost inconsequential. Merlin rests his head on Elyan's lap afterward, feeling fingers card through his hair, and studies them. There, Percival's knees where he'd been bracing himself. There, Merlin's feet, in two long, deep furrows. There, a palmprint—Merlin can't tell whose.

"Shall I take a picture?" Gwaine asks. He pads around the wreck of sand, making a perimeter of footprints.

"No," Merlin says. He has memory enough. "The beach can keep it."


	2. Group B (warnings)

**26**

Image(s) used: Image #6

Merlin steps out of the shower, reaching for the towel on the rack, soft and still warm from the dryer. He watches the vague shape of his body move in the fogged up mirror, feels the excitement filling his chest already. The cold air tickles across his freshly shaven skin as he opens the door to his bedroom. 

_Searching hands wind their way into hair, collars, anything to hold onto as he invades your space, kissing over your throat, the patches of skin not hindered by clothing._

The outfit is all there, laid out on the bed, waiting. Merlin picks up the knickers, soft satin and lace, and slides them up his legs. They don’t fall into place on his hips immediately, and there’s some tucking and careful scrutiny in the mirror before they’re the way he wants them. Next are the stockings, perfectly pale with a black seam up the back. They feel like heaven on his bare skin, but watching in the mirror, his too long fingers and knobby knees ruin the illusion, at least until they’re all the way on, and then another piece of the transformation has slotted into place. 

_You’re supposed to be quiet, not make a sound, but you can’t help the little gasp as your back hits the wall, gently enough but still surprising. His hands are under your dress now, fingers running over the edge of your panties. It makes you weak, glad for the wall behind you and his body pressed against yours._

The bra is entirely unnecessary. Merlin doesn’t even stuff it, could never imagine pulling it off with his body shape. But it completes the outfit, he once said, even if only there for decoration. 

_He presses against you, hard against your thigh. Your mouth finds his as you reach for him, feeling him through the fabric of his trousers. You go for his belt, and he shakes his head and goes to his knees._

Make up and hair are next. Merlin had entertained the idea of a wig once, but couldn’t bring himself to spend that much on one of the good ones, something that didn’t look entirely fake. So all he does is a little product to make his fringe stick up, shaping it into a small fauxhawk or whatever the fuck it’s called. It looks good, plenty of women now have short androgynous haircuts. 

He had tried eyeliner once, and that had been a fucking disaster, so he sticks with foundation and rouge and a bit of mascara. The lipstick goes on last, turning his mouth into hers, sultry and “damn near criminal”. 

_God, he’s so fucking good at this. That feels like the dirtiest secret, that you and you alone know that Arthur Pendragon is good at sucking cock, and loves it to boot. He lets your spent cock go with a pop, and your knees finally give out, sinking down the wall. He catches you, and he smiles, eyes bright even in the dark._

The dress is short, black, rouched and seamed in all the right places. It hugs his waist and the curve of his ass perfectly. Merlin smoothes his hands over the neckline, down the front and around. No pantilines in the mirror, good. 

Shoes are the last thing, black pumps, heels high but not unmanageable. He takes one last long look in the mirror, savoring the feeling of becoming something other than himself, something desirable. He becomes her. 

The doorbell chimes.

* * *

**27**

Image(s) used: #1, #3, and a teasing of the first half of #7 as backstory

It was just a bit of razzing, really. The knights often pulled pranks on Merlin, whether it be hiding his meal or stealing his neckerchiefs to tie on the horns of the cows in the village green. Merlin liked to think the teasing a gesture of affection, inclusion - which was why he merely laughed when the knights set their hunting bows aside to scoop Merlin up and carry him bodily towards the river.

Percival took the bulk of his weight, hefting under his armpits to drag the squirming and giggling Merlin towards the water, while Elyan had his knees pinned tight. The king’s favourite hound barked and jumped at them, Merlin not sure if she was coming to his rescue or aiding in the assault. The latter, he thought, as her wet tongue slopped against his ear. He bucked in their grasp, freeing a leg and kicking with it before Gwaine joined the fray, grasping handfuls of his trouser-leg. The yank on the cloth was too much – with a snap, the string of Merlin’s britches parted and with his next struggle, his legs slid upwards while his pants slid downward, and there it was. His cock, exposed to the world in all its vulnerable splendour.

Laughter died as they all froze, seconds stretching as everyone stared down at it in its dark thatch of hair, until it stirred under the scrutiny, slowly rising under their gaze until it pointed treacherously at Merlin’s belly.

There was no sound but Merlin’s heaving breath. Then Elyan’s hand stretched out, tracing Merlin’s length as it twitched beneath his fingers. The tableau was broken – Merlin gasped out a sob, his torso clenching and muscles straining as he curled in on himself. Humiliation lent him the strength to wrest a hand free of Percival’s grip in a belated attempt to cover himself.

“Nononono,” Elyan murmured, catching him by the wrist. “Don’t hide, Merlin.” Gently he lifted Merlin’s hand away. “Let us see.”

Merlin flushed to the colour of a baby beet, closing his eyes against the knights’ gazes. Percival leaned down to put his lips against Merlin’s ear. “Let us, Merlin.”

The river forgotten, Merlin was carried back to camp and laid out like a banquet on Leon’s cloak. Elyan was the first to lean in, stroking his cheek against Merlin’s thigh. Then Merlin was drowning in a sea of hands and mouths, fingers and tongues. Percival curved his great shoulders down to plunder Merlin’s mouth with a burning kiss; Leon planted small bites across his belly, while Gwaine sucked in a nipple, flicking his tongue across the small nub before turning his attention to its mate. They took their time, lavishing their attention over every inch of Merlin’s flushed skin.

Percival pulled Merlin up to lay against his chest, soothing his hands along Merlin’s sides as one would a skittish hound or horse. He then grasped beneath Merlin’s thighs to lift his legs apart and back, baring Merlin to his attentive audience.

Gwaine tangled his tongue with Leon’s across the sensitive head of Merlin’s dripping cock, then bent to suck on his balls, drawing each one in to tease it with his tongue. Elyan spread Merlin’s cheeks apart and sucked gently on the round of flesh over each of his sit-bones in turn, before pressing his mouth over his clenching hole, sucking hard. Merlin gasped, and Leon swallowed him down to his root, tightening his lips around Merlin’s cock as it prodded the back of his throat. Merlin arched up with a cry, his body convulsing as his orgasm washed over him in long pulses. He collapsed back against Percival as his legs were lowered slowly to the ground.

The knights continued to caress him, stroking over his body, through his hair and along his cheeks. Merlin felt utterly wrecked, limp in Percival’s arms, his chest heaving up and down. His eyes were unfocused and his fingers slowly unclenched from Leon’s cloak.

“All right there, Merlin?” Percival asked with concern. At Merlin’s brief nod, Percival broke into a brilliant grin. “Good. Shall we get you to the water now?”

Later, after he had been gathered up and tossed in the river, joined by the knights in a capricious display of splashing and frolicking, Merlin stood on the bank, reveling in the rays of the setting sun as they climbed down his naked body. It's good, he thought, to feel included.

* * *

**28**

Warnings: underage (characters are 17)  
Image(s) used: 09

He pulls out a fag and lights up, studies it in his fingers and pretends, inexplicably, as though the buzz of the streetlamps overhead can mask Arthur's approaching footfalls, makes it seem as though he finds the cigarette more interesting than the boy arriving at the edge of his garden.

Arthur doesn't say anything to this, just shakes his head and snorts - makes the sound unsurprised and mean, and the peripheral sight of him is enough to have Merlin flushing, half regretting this already.

Arthur moves to shuffle forward, turns towards the back of the house and Merlin lets him go. He doesn't move himself until his smoke's finished, waits a good few minutes longer as well as he picks at a tiny crumbling indent in the concrete underfoot, heart fucking going in his chest and not stopping when he does push away from the front steps, when he follows after Arthur, turns the corner of the house and comes face to face with him waiting in front of the shed, hands in his trouser pockets.

The silence remains thick between them and Merlin just goes for his keys, fumbles them into the padlock with a jangle. The hinges screech in protest when he gets the door open, seeming louder in the dark, and Arthur's head jerks in the direction of the only window visible from their point.

“We're too far to wake her,” Merlin says as he steps over the threshold, voice low. It's more cluttered inside than he thought it would be, bikes shoved haphazardly in the corner, buried under bin bags of clothes his mum never got around to donating. There are gardening tools strewn across the floor, and he has to shove aside a lawnmower with a cracked petrol tank in an attempt to clear a patch in the mess, ends up making more of an effort doing so than he needs to, yanking at the handle, cursing when he catches a knuckle on a wayward rake before throwing that aside as well.

A sled he's not used in years joins the rake, tossed on top of the bags to keep it silent. A busted watering can is after, then their toolbox, the hosepipe, the fucking tent - still in the box - Merlin bought when he was supposed to go with -

He's breathing hard, he realises, his chest heaving, and his hand fucking hurts.

Arthur's still standing in the entrance when Merlin looks up at him, watching with forearms resting on either side of the door frame. 

“You done?”

And, “Fuck off,” is what Merlin says to that, suddenly angry, and he wonders why he's here to begin with – why the fuck – what did he even think would – And he goes to move forward, shoves into Arthur with force and makes him stumble.

Arthur's trainer catches a rock in the grass and he goes back a couple feet, expression shifting into one of shock before changing into something else entirely.

There's a second or two then – of breathing, of staring at each other as a dog barks from somewhere far off, a car door slams the next street over – before Arthur's the one moving forward with purpose, catching Merlin under the arms and sending them both back into the shed, doesn't stop until Merlin's back hits the wall, rattling the aluminum siding.

“You fuck off,” he says, hoarse. He pushes harder for a moment, too much pressure against Merlin's lungs.“Fuck right off.” And then they're kissing, a rapid-fire string of movements neither of them can much control.

Merlin thinks about pushing him off, gets his palms on Arthur's chest but only ends up grasping at Arthur's t-shirt, pulling until it's dragged over his head.

It doesn't take long to get into trousers then, to take them off entirely and slick up, rub each other, and gasp into the hot air gathered in the spaces between shoulders and necks. It doesn't take long to get off either – never does to come with another curse on their lips and pant together, unwilling to look at each other or pull away.

Eventually, though, Arthur pushes away, shuffles into his clothes and mumbles something about leaving, about it being late.

Merlin waves him without looking.

He stays in the shed a while, though, lights another fag and watches the stream of smoke escape from the gaps in his self-deprecating smile. He takes his cock in hand and squeezes where he can still feel Arthur. Leans back. Takes another drag.

* * *

**29**

Image(s) used: image 11

"I’m not sure it’s really a date..." Merlin frowns, gripping his phone more tightly in a hand that's slick with nervous sweat.

"Yes, it _is_." Gwen voice brooks no arguments. "You went home with him from a club at the weekend; you snogged him in the library yesterday after he brought you surprise coffee and muffins; he's been texting you all week -- and now he's asked you to meet him to go running? It's definitely a date," she giggles. "So wear some decent pants.”

"Oh, God, okay," Merlin groans. "He's going to be here soon, I should get changed. I’ll call you later.”

"Go get him, tiger," Gwen giggles, making a growling noise. Merlin rolls his eyes as he ends the call.

***

Gwaine looks seriously fit in his running gear. Black lycra running tights and a red long-sleeved shirt fit him like a second skin.

Merlin's not really much of a runner. Swimming is more his thing, but he didn't want to turn down an excuse to spend time with his... whatever Gwaine is. It’s much too soon to call him a boyfriend and the word 'lover' makes Merlin cringe, even if he thought that mutual slightly-drunken hand jobs on a sofa qualified Gwaine for that title. 

Merlin tries not to stare too blatantly at Gwaine's crotch, but it's really difficult not to search for the outline of Gwaine’s prick when he can still remember how it felt the other night -- warm and slick, and so-very-unfamiliar in Merlin's hand that was only used to gripping his own. 

Running is surprisingly enjoyable. The early spring air is crisp, and the sky’s clear and blue above them as they pound through the woods and fields that surround the campus. 

Of course it's too good to last, and a stray bramble around his ankle is Merlin's downfall -- quite literally. He trips and faceplants onto the uneven, muddy path beneath his feet. 

Gwaine pulls him back up, and Merlin laughs it off. But the hot burn of embarrassment doesn't leave him and he curses his clumsiness and inability to stay on his feet.

***

"You need a shower," Gwaine grins at him as he straightens up from a rather distracting hamstring stretch. Merlin whips his eyes back up to Gwaine's face instead of his arse. “I’ll scrub your back.”

They peel each other out of their sweaty clothes. 

Merlin tries to hide his nerves and inexperience. He’s never been naked with anyone before and the instinct to cover himself is nearly overwhelming. But Gwaine runs warm hands over Merlin making him shiver, and murmurs against his skin between kisses, telling Merlin that he’s beautiful. The hot rise of Gwaine’s cock against Merlin’s hip helps him to believe that it’s true.

They get each other slippery with soap under the hot spray, and Merlin relaxes further, giggling and ticklish as they kiss and grope each other.

“Come here,” Gwaine grabs Merlin’s arse and hauls him closer, soapy fingers sliding into places where Merlin’s never been touched before. He whimpers, wanting, but feeling dirty at the same time. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he tucks his face against Gwaine’s neck, ashamed by how painfully aroused he is by Gwaine’s touch. When Gwaine gets his fingertip to Merlin’s hole and circles it, Merlin’s legs nearly give out. He yelps and grabs at the shower curtain. “I’m sorry,” Merlin gasps. “It’s just... no one’s ever...” His face flames, but Gwaine’s eyes are soft with understanding as he holds Merlin close.

“Come on.” Gwaine turns off the water. “You definitely need to be lying down for what’s coming next.”

***

“Okay?” Gwaine whispers, breath teasing Merlin’s arse cheeks, hands spreading them wide.

“Yeah,” Merlin manages, face burning against the pillow. 

The hot flicker of Gwaine’s tongue is so shockingly good that Merlin is brought to the edge mortifyingly quickly. He’s grateful to be face down, he needs to hide or it would be too much. He ruts against the duvet, his cock trapped beneath him, and as Gwaine presses his tongue inside Merlin cries out and spills, hot and wet against his belly. 

“Christ, Merlin,” Gwaine crawls over his spent body, pulling Merlin over onto his back. “I want to show you _everything_.” He stares down at Merlin lying wrecked, limp with pleasure. Merlin watches as Gwaine jerks his cock hard and fast, and when he comes he paints Merlin’s body with blood-hot stripes.

Merlin wants it all.

* * *

**30**

Image(s) used: Image #1

It was hard to struggle while laughing hysterically but Merlin tried. Leon held his arm as a nude Arthur wrestled his shorts off. Worsening things, Arthur’s dog Callie decided to join in and attacked playfully, licking Merlin’s ear, tickling him into a helpless mess.

While distracted by the pup, Arthur freed Merlin’s feet from his board-shorts and suddenly he was naked, giggling and laying on the grass, Arthur pinning his feet down. Leon shimmied out of his own Bermudas. They hit the ground, he kicked them aside and grasped Merlin under each arm while Arthur hoisted his legs up and hitched Merlin’s knees around his hips. The blonds dragged their wriggling friend down the slope toward the lake behind the Pendragon’s “cabin”.

Calling the palatial house a “cabin” was laughable. Leon and Arthur had been coming here since infancy, friends before they could speak. Merlin, a year younger than Arthur and two younger than Leon, became a new addition to these pilgrimages after he’d arrived at the school both boys attended this past term. Merlin wasn’t wealthy but brainpower earned him a scholarship to the prestigious school where he’d first met Leon then Arthur. It seemed wherever one went, the other followed and surprisingly, it wasn’t long before Merlin was added in, their duo becoming a trio.

Carrying the feebly struggling Merlin to the lake-shore, Leon reminded Merlin this was for his own good.

“You have to go with us, it’s a rite of passage. Besides, you _said _you loved to swim!”__

“I do! In a _heated_ pool in a sports-center, not some frozen lake in the depths of middle-earth!"

“Stop being such a girl, Merlin! The lake’s hardly frozen, it’s almost eighteen degrees!”

Without hesitation they swung Merlin and heaved him into the water. Coming up spluttering, Merlin made for shore but both boys flanked him before he’d caught his breath and dragged him further in. They caged him between interlocked arms and held him still as the sun beat down and waves eddied around. Merlin’s shivering faded as they pinned him close between them.

“I-I thought we were swimming?” he quavered, rapidly responding to the press of their heated skin. He’d not yet confessed he was gay but if they kept holding him, it was going to quickly become obvious to Arthur pressed tight against his belly.

However, he discovered he needn’t confess anything when he felt Leon’s tongue running lightly up his neck and two cocks rising to press firmly against his aching flesh. Arthur captured his mouth, canted his hips to let his erection spring between them and rubbed his hard-on against Merlin’s rapidly filling length.

When he breathed, “We will…later.” Merlin had difficulty understanding he was answering Merlin’s question. Leon squeezed Merlin’s small buttocks in large palms while his tongue continued to swipe along the long line of his neck. Arthur’s tongue caught Merlin’s while his fingers trailed over sharp hip-bones, along his lean waist before continuing over each of Merlin’s ribs as if memorizing every dip and rise of his torso.

He didn’t release Merlin’s mouth but his hands trailed over the tight planes of chest and belly before grasping both their cocks, bringing them together tightly. Merlin couldn’t help his gasp and went up on his toes at the intensity of sensation. As he rose, Leon’s hardness slipped between his buttocks and the tall boy began to gently rock his hips back and forth creating delicious friction against Merlin’s sweet-spot.

With Arthur pumping his straining flesh in front and Leon’s silky length pressing rhythmically against his tender taint, nudging his balls from behind, Merlin couldn’t long hold his release. Keening into Arthur’s mouth, his heated seed spilled into the cool water surrounding them. Subconsciously tightening around Leon’s cock, the boy groaned against his throat and unleashed a scalding fountain against the cool skin of Merlin’s tightly drawn-up scrotum. Arthur moaned loudly, released Merlin’s mouth and pumped his hardness against Merlin for a few more strokes before he too released the warmth of his completion into the lake swirling all around their rocking bodies.

Both older boys wrapped their arms around Merlin and leaned into him, the three holding each other up as their strength recovered. Blond heads dropped to either side of sable and they nuzzled his neck in tandem.

Speaking for the first time since they’d pressed him between them, Merlin quipped, “They _were_ right in school. You two do _everything_ together.”

Arthur responded, “Not anymore, now it’s the three of us.”

* * *

**31**

Warnings: barebacking  
Image(s) used: 02

He stops, listening carefully to the sounds of his surroundings. A bat flying overhead. A pair of squirel on a tree to the left. Quiet footfalls about 30 metres behind. 

In a blink of an eye, he turns and starts running. The man has no chance of escaping.

Three seconds and he has him backed against a tree.

“What do you want?” he snarls, staring into the eyes of the man who has been following him since he entered the Avalon club almost five hours ago.

“You, Arthur Pendragon,” the man says, surprising Arhur by grabbing his hips and pulling them flush together, the man’s erection unmistakable against Arthur’s thigh. 

“You don’t know what you want,” Arthur says and presses his leg between the man’s thighs.

“Oh, I know,” the man says, pushing aside the fabric of his shirt, revealing long line of his neck as he tilts his head to the side.

“And I know what you want,” he says and drags his fingernails over the exposed flesh of his shoulder, leaving red lines behind.

“Are you suicidal?” Arthur asks, his mouth watering at the sight.

“No,” the man says and when Arthur lifts his gaze to meet his eyes again, they’re swirling with gold.

“Okay then, little sorcerer,” Arthur says and swiftly turns the man around. “But I’m not going to be gentle.”

The audible hitch in the man’s breathing says all Arthur needs to know and he snaps the man’s fly open and pulls his jeans down. He spreads his arsecheeks and runs his finger around the man’s hole. It’s slick with lube.

“Aren’t you a proper boy scout? Always prepared,” Arthur says and stands up, quickly working his own fly open and stroking his cock into full hardness.

He doesn’t waste time and pushes inside the wet heat of the man’s body.

“So tight for me,” he whispers into the man’s ear, rolling his hips in slow rhythm. “I wonder what you taste like, little sorcerer,” he adds, his mouth hovering over skin of the man’s neck.

“Merlin,” the man gasps.

“What?” Arthur asks, completely distracted by the feel of the man’s pulse under his tongue.

“My name,” the man says, meeting each one of Arhur’s thrusts.

“Okay then, Merlin,” Arthur says, rolling the name onto his tongue experimentally and lets the fangs descend.

The moment he sinks them into the warm flesh, Merlin’s knees buckle, but Arthur is already holding him tight around his waist. He sucks on the open wound, lets the blood wash over his palates and hums.

Merlin goes still in his arms and Arthur can feel the power seeping into him as Merlin’s magic flares.

Arthur sucks harder, the bright sparks dancing in his vision as he comes. He can feel Merlin clenching around him and suddently there’s only white.

When he wakes up, it’s to Merlin’s eyes, still tinged with gold, and he’s the one pinned to the tree. Merlin presses close and sucks a bruise into his neck.

“Mine,” Merlin growls.

* * *

**32**

Image(s) used: 03

Merlin _consumes_ him, in a way nothing ever has, has ever come close, and it frightens him the strength of that consumption. It’s- it’s not decent, there’s a perversity inherent in wanting that much, nothing at all elegant or noble in that desire. It’s not enough to be close to him, he wants to be _inside_ , floating through his veins, drinking his mouth as if it were possible to take the soul of a person into one's own body and hold it there.

“I wish you wouldn’t come,” Merlin says.

“That’s a lie.”

“It is,” is the rueful response. “But I want to mean that. You deserve so much more.”

“What would you do if I didn’t come?”

“I would rejoice,” Merlin says quietly and then grins. “I might even dance.”

“Not bloody likely. You’d claim that rock there. Sprawl out like a starfish and _long_ for me.”

“I would, and still I’d be so happy for you, Arthur.”

The depth of sincerity guts him, because Merlin would, and he shouldn’t be. He should know Arthur could only ever be happy with him. “You’d long for me,” he says again, hating the uncertainty in his voice.

Merlin sighs and looks out at the water and Arthur is desperate to get his attention back from that place that claims Merlin so completely. “Would that matter?”

“Of course. It means you’re different. That we’d be different.” He remembers the first time he saw Merlin, years ago, all gangly limbs and ears seeming twice as large with his wet hair plastered to his skull. His friends had all been laughing, dancing, and Merlin had looked lost as he stood there, digging his toes in the sand and tracing the shape of his ears with a finger. He’d looked mental, to be honest, and then sounded it too when he stared straight at Arthur and asked, “Do you like these, then?” It took a long moment of gaping before Arthur realised the stranger meant _his ridiculous ears_ and he let out a sharp bark of laughter and replied, “God no.”

Merlin isn’t at all like Gwaine or any of his other friends that chase after girls and then slip back easily into the water. And Arthur would never do to him what others did with Freya, with Hunith. He wants to believe that, but he also wants so _fiercely_. What wouldn’t he do to get to keep this?

“Arthur,” Merlin says, and Arthur steamrolls over that warning note in his voice.

“Do you miss me? Do you ever?”

Merlin sighs again. “Time passes so differently, I don’t--”

And he can’t bear to hear another word, especially not with the reminder of their ever diminishing time. He rolls over Merlin, bites at the place where his neck blends into the curve of his jaw. He wants to mark Merlin all over, somehow make an imprint that will last. He swallows Merlin’s groans, tries to feel them on the sides of his tongue before they go down, but they escape him.

He knows the body beneath his so well. The endearing shape of those ears, every dip and ridge of that spine, the slim hips that fit so perfectly in his hands, the sharp fingers and edges of bone; Arthur has dreams of sliding his hips over Merlin's and coming away with red drags on his skin. He braces himself on one arm, separating their bodies, tries to catch his breath.

“I want to fuck you,” he says, the words as inadequate as they are true, and the words sting on his lips, enter the tiny cuts at the corners of his mouth and sink there, cutting with their weight.

“Yes, please,” Merlin says with a heartbreaking grin as he pulls Arthur back down in a kiss. Merlin’s mouth is soft and yielding, meant for the kind of leisurely exploration they never have time for. “Oh, god,” he chokes out when Arthur’s hand slips between their bodies, and Merlin wraps his legs around Arthur’s waist, claws at his back. Merlin loves the sensation of being held down, has never known anything quite like it, and he eels and twists in Arthur’s grip, laughing.

Arthur pushes inside, the way already slick with his last release, and Merlin arches under his hands, all his sharp angles melting into curves and kisses him so sweetly, Arthur almost believes he can wake up to this.

* * *

**33**

Image(s) used: 2 and 9

"What do you think I felt," Arthur whispers, mouth trailing up the side of Merlin's neck.

He can taste the sweat on Merlin's skin, feel the pulse that throbs under his lips on the side of Merlin's neck. Arthur bites down, rolls the skin between his teeth and hisses his pain when Merlin's nails scratch a path up his bare back to his shoulder. He knows there will be marks, but it's unimportant when he has Merlin pressed against the door of their flat.

"How do you think I felt? Hearing you deny this," Arthur whispers.

He loves the way Merlin looks at him, eyes glazed over, hips thrusting forward. Arthur loves the noises that fall from Merlin's mouth, the low keening sounds that scream his desperation, his absolute _need_ to have Arthur in him. Arthur loves how Merlin breaks, how he's there to serve when the doors close.

"I know what it does to you," Merlin answers, dark blue eyes gazing down at Arthur.

He _knows_. Arthur can read it in the way Merlin's body fits into his, the way his hands dig into Arthur's hair so that when their lips find each other it's hard and desperate already. Arthur feels Merlin's exhale down his body and he has to press forward until they're touching everywhere. Merlin's overdressed. Arthur too, with everything on but his shirt. But for now it's okay, because Arthur is running his tongue over Merlin's lower lip and Merlin's opening his mouth, is letting him in. There's no slow, just the sudden push of Arthur's tongue, the way he tastes Merlin, as though he can't get enough. 

Merlin goes limp in Arthur's hand so that it's harder for Arthur to get a hand between them, to push it past the waistband of Merlin's jeans and around Merlin's cock. He's hard, aching if the way he gasps out Arthur's name is anything to go by. 

"You like that," Arthur asks and he doesn't need Merlin's confirmation. It's just polite to ask.

Arthur knows what this does to Merlin too, to have Arthur's hands on him when everyone else thinks they're just friends. Arthur's watched him smoking and getting off while Arthur whispered in his ear how they were lying, how they had everyone fooled, how no one would ever know just how much Merlin liked being fucked open by Arthur.

It gets them both off; the secrets, the lies, the looks they exchange between breaks at work, the quick fucks in Arthur's office. The one time they almost got caught and Merlin had to hide under Arthur's desk but couldn't keep himself from biting, from licking so that Arthur had to cut his meeting short. They'd fucked on Arthur's desk with the board members just outside the office. They could still hear them talking to Gwen as Arthur pushed into Merlin, over and over, fucked him slow until Merlin's fingers were white around the edge of Arthur's desk and his face red from having to hold in the noises he wanted to make. 

But it's more than that too, more than Merlin running fingers through Arthur's hair to get it to look decent. More than checking twice before slipping into the loo at a bar during nights out with their friends. It's more than just watching Merlin fuck himself into the circle of Arthur's hand. 

It's what comes after, the expression on Merlin's face when he's sated, how he falls into Arthur's chest. It's about how he never forgets to give as good as he gets, how he knows what Arthur's favourite drink is, what Arthur likes after a long day of work. It's about how Arthur always gets the wrong brand of milk, but how he never forgets an anniversary or the obscure days that Merlin would never remember—the first time they kissed, their first date, the first time Arthur saw Merlin, the first words they interchanged. 

Even if no one knows, it's enough that they do. What happens next will happen when it does.

* * *

**34**

Image(s) used: # 4

“You know smoking is really vile, love,” Gwaine sidles over to Morgana, naked as the day he was born.

Morgana looks at him and laughs, “That’s a good one coming from you. You’re worse than a chimney.”

Gwaine stands between Morgana’s parted legs and quickly grabs the cigarette from her fingers, “yeah but I’m macho and manly, there’s a difference”

Morgana makes an aborted grab for her cigarette and snorts, “macho and manly. That’s why you were crying like a little baby when you came an hour ago”

“You wound me. It was only your immense sexiness that sent me so far over the edge. How is a normal man supposed to cope?” Gwaine hold the cigarette just out of Morgana’s grasping reach.

Morgana tries to grab the cigarette again but ends you pressing her lace covered breasts into Gwaine’s chest. “Oh, I swear if you don’t give me my cigarette. You’ll never have another orgasm in my presences again”

Gwaine’s eyes go dark as he presses back against her and lifts the cigarette to his mouth. He takes a deep drag and slots his mouth over hers exhaling the smoke into hers, “I don’t believe that for one minute,” He says against her lips

Morgana exhales the smoke and pulls Gwaine in for a deep kiss. All teeth and lips and tongue. It gets kind of sloppy with harsh breaths and noses bumping. It’s always like this between them, Real and flawed and natural. 

Gwaine slides his hands around her thighs and lifts her into his arms the cigarette firmly between his lips. He walks across the sunny room with her legs wrapped around his waist, the white lace of her corset scrapping against his chest with each step. 

He unceremoniously dumps her on the rumpled bed and climbs on pushing her legs up and around his middle. 

Gwaine inhales on the cigarette and pulls the lace of her corset down revealing a small pink nipple and exhales the warm smoke across it. Her nipple hardens and peaks with the attention. “Mm mm, do that again,” Morgana hums. 

Gwaine takes another drag, bares her other breast and takes the nipple into his mouth exhaling the smoke around it in a warm cloud. Morgana squirms as the smoke tickles her sensitive skin. Gwaine sucks lightly on her nipple as he reaches over to the bedside table and gently deposits what is left of the cigarette in an ashtray waiting there. 

His hands find her clit ready and wet. No panties in the way of his hands. He rubs it hard as she writhes beneath him. Small gasps of air the only noise in the room. Morgana pulls him down by the neck and licks at his mouth as he open and lets her play with his tongue. Licking kisses that meet mid-air. Both of them grinning into it. 

“Give it to me, do it,” She demands as she licks at his scruffy cheek. 

“As the lady commands,” Gwaine smirks as he lines up his dick and pushes into her. 

Morgana hums with approval and pushes back against him establishing a hard and fast rhythm they both like. Gwaine runs his hand down her sides and palms her ass bringing them closer together. Morgana clenches around him as she feels him start to falter close to coming. 

Gwaine moves his hand between her legs and pressed down on her clit. Morgana seizes up and comes around his dick, “cheater, you did that on purpose,” she sputters when she comes back to herself. 

“All’s fair in in war,” Gwaine says as he kisses her silent. 

“We’ll see about that,” Morgana smirks and tightens around him sneaking one hand around to press against his hole.

“Mmphm,” Gwaine’s movements stutter to a stop as he comes long and hard. 

Gwaine pulls out of her and flops down beside her on the bed gathering her into his arms, A soppy grin on his face that he will never admit to in public.

“Those fingers should be outlawed and you know it,” he smirks as he closes his eyes for a nap. Morgana just rolls her eyes and settles against him.

* * *

**35**

Warnings: Slight dub-con, elements of D/s. May require squinting?  
Image(s) used: #11

It wasn’t that Merlin had planned to send his new neighbour chest first into a muddy puddle outside their building. Maybe he had, at some point, vaguely wondered how Arthur would look with his clothes clinging to his body like a second skin while water trickled down his face and dipped slowly down below his jaw. He’d thought about droplets sliding against his ridiculously gorgeous neck just _a little_ , but that didn’t mean he’d barrelled into Arthur on purpose. 

This didn’t seem to make Arthur any less angry.

The fact that Arthur was livid, fisting his hand into Merlin’s shirt and yanking him forwards roughly, did not make Merlin any less aroused. It was kind of the opposite, actually. 

Merlin knew, shamefully, that his cheeks were flushed as he stared at Arthur’s nipples poking through the see-through yellow shirt and that was... well, it was... _fuck_. It didn’t even put him off that there was mud smeared across half of Arthur’s face – if anything it was even a little hot and what was wrong with him, exactly?

“You’re cleaning this up,” Arthur said, his voice strained with badly concealed anger. 

And Merlin said “yes, _sire_ ” like a cheeky bugger because he figured it meant that he’d be doing Arthur’s laundry for a week, not that he’d be dragged into the building by his shirt and hauled inside Arthur’s bathroom. He definitely didn’t think he’d be standing there with his cock hardening so fast he was downright dizzy while Arthur undressed with tense shoulders. It seemed a bit like a very unlikely daydream, so the best thing to do was to stand completely still in case Arthur remembered he was there and cruelly threw him out just before Arthur’s thumbs slipped below the waistline of his jeans. 

Merlin didn’t even breathe. 

Then his breath came out in one dizzying rush when a decidedly nude Arthur shoved him back against the door, breath fanning hot against Merlin’s neck. The air felt strange and heavy all of a sudden, as if Merlin would never get enough of it into his lungs, making his mind sluggish and dazed. Teeth grazed the skin of his neck and Merlin could feel his pulse running rapidly under the sudden pressure of Arthur’s tongue. Being trapped between the door and Arthur, heavy and warm and naked, was overwhelming and his head fell back with a thud, the pain not even registering.

There was a soft nip at his jaw and then a deep groan. “God, you’re infuriating.”

“Uhm,” Merlin just said, his fingertips grasping desperately against the door. 

It wasn’t that Merlin had planned to end up with his cheek pushed against the cold tiles in his neighbour’s shower with one of Arthur’s hands cradling his head and the other wrapped too tight and too hot around his cock. It wasn’t even anything he’d fantasised about because, quite frankly, not even Merlin’s imagination could’ve come up with _this_. His breath was shaky as Arthur’s hand slipped from his hair, following the line of his neck and the curve of his shoulder before it came down to grasp his hip in a grip that was just tight enough to make Merlin groan, his lips grazing the wall. 

“So fucking infuriating,” Arthur murmured against his shoulder, his lips brushing across Merlin’s slick skin. “So gorgeous. God, fuck you for being so gorgeous.”

Merlin’s fingertips whitened against the tiles as he braced himself, pushing back into the slick stroke of Arthur’s hand under the scalding water. His hair stuck to his forehead and water ran into his eyes, but he barely had it in him to blink it away as Arthur’s thumb moved across his slit, making Merlin push into the touch with a soft whimper. He couldn’t decide if the best thing was the fingers curling around his length, the cock pressed against his arse with steady thrusts or... oh, okay, the best thing was definitely the way Arthur grunted obscenely into his ear when he came. And that was really all Merlin had time to think before his mental capacities dissolved into broken moans and _ohfuckohfuck_. 

He hadn’t planned to laugh, giddy with the thrumming buzz under his skin, when he turned around and found Arthur still had mud across his cheek even under the steady stream of water, but he did. 

“You’re useless,” Arthur said, scowling when Merlin rubbed his thumb over the spot of dirt and then nuzzled into Merlin’s touch like a kitten.

* * *

**36**

Warnings: waxplay, temperature play, mild painplay, slight D/s overtones? Undertones? Some kind of tones?  
Image(s) used: 02, 08

Merlin flinched as warm wax hit skin at the small of his back and sighed in anticipation. Tonight, he knew, Arthur would have him teetering on a knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. 

Hot breath followed the line of slowly cooling wax cooled up his spine. Hot lips trailed kisses across his ribs as more warm wax dribbled in their wake. Arthur’s hand ran down his sensitive flank. Merlin shifted; plastic crinkled beneath him.

He couldn’t forget how this had started. Walking into the flat to soft music and low-burning candles. Stepping into the living room. Being pounced by a very naked Arthur. 

In the ensuing wrestling match, someone bumped the coffee table, tipping over the candle sitting there. It rolled to the table’s edge, where it slowly dripped hot wax onto the bared skin of Merlin’s belly.

He’d hissed at the heat, and Arthur had pulled back from kissing and undressing him to look. Picking the wax off, he’d leaned down to kiss the reddened skin. Aroused, Merlin had moaned and his cock had twitched between them.

A speculative look had entered Arthur’s eyes, and they’d spent the rest of the night -- and the days after -- experimenting, researching, and determining what worked best for them. It had been the start of a most pleasurable addition to their sex life.

Tonight, he’d come home to find everything laid out for an intense session. Arthur had slowly undressed him and kissed him breathless. Then he’d whispered, “On the bed, on your belly. I want to play.”

Merlin had hastened to obey, melting and relaxing under the blond’s hands as Arthur rubbed him down with baby oil. Arthur took his time; kissing, caressing, preparing his lover for what was to come. Merlin moaned as Arthur dragged his fingers over his buttocks, exposing Merlin and teasing gently at his entrance.

“Gonna open you up. Get you all ready for me,” Arthur breathed into Merlin’s ear. “Gonna make you scream by the time I’m done with you.”

Merlin moaned from the slight burn as Arthur breached him. He rutted against the rough towel he’d placed beneath him, the drag of the terry cloth exquisite against his hardening cock. The bright hot smack of Arthur’s hand on his ass made him gasp and jerk.

“None of that, now,” Arthur growled, adding another finger and making Merlin thrust back against his hand. “Stay still.”

Merlin eagerly obeyed, indulging on one last wriggle, which Arthur rewarded with a nip to the back of his neck. He tightened the grip he had on his pillow as Arthur added another finger and thrust rhythmically, hard and deep, hitting the spot that made Merlin’s toes tingle. Without warning, Arthur pushed in hard one last time before withdrawing completely. Merlin mewled in protest.

Arthur chuckled, deep and dark. “Impatient, sweetheart?” 

Without giving Merlin a chance to answer, he buried himself, working his cock past the tight muscle until he was seated balls deep. He moaned and pulled back a bit. Merlin felt the side of Arthur’s hand brush against where they joined and knew his lover was wrapping his hand around the base of his cock, staving off his orgasm.

“So tight for me, Merlin,” Arthur moaned. “Been waiting for you for hours. Wanking just so I could do this when you finally got here. All for you.”

“Nuh,” Merlin grunted. The bed shook a little as Arthur shifted, driving him deeper; and Merlin saw stars. The first warm caress of the wax as it dripped onto his back made him tense. Arthur, ever watchful, licked and kissed his way up Merlin’s spine to mouth softly at his shoulder, gentling him.

Merlin spent the next little while in a haze of pleasure and pain, of bright heat and fire. Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, Arthur changed the routine...and upped the stakes. 

“I thought,” he whispered, “that we could try something a little different.”

There was the clink of ice as it hit the side of a glass, and then cold trailing down the lines of wax. Merlin shivered and moaned as Arthur gently picked and peeled the wax away. The combination was new, and the sensations it caused went straight to Merlin’s already straining cock.

He bore down on the cloth beneath him, desperately seeking friction. Arthur’s grunt of disapproval was followed by the sharp drag of nails across the deep lines on Merlin’s back. 

Merlin screamed.

* * *

**37**

Image(s) used: Image #12

**The Painted Cock**

Merlin kneeled in the middle of the room; one hand clutched around his cock in a futile attempt at modesty and raised a hand up to rest on the back of his head.

"Is this a good position?" Merlin asked. He couldn't quite bring himself to raise his eyes from the floor, not while he was undressing and certainly not now.

"Hmm... There's something not quite..." Arthur said. "Oh! Stay there, I'll be right back."

Merlin glanced up as he heard the door click. He took the opportunity to stretch and look around the room. It looked like any other art studio; the only difference was that this one was in a castle. _Of course, it's a bloody castle, you're being paid exorbitantly._ Merlin thought. He was more apprehensive by the second and was considering putting his clothes back on and leaving when Arthur walked in again.

"Any objections?" Arthur asked with a tone that implied Merlin would be out the door sans pay if he did object. Arthur held up a tin of black body paint.

Merlin's mouth fell open in shock. The audacity of this prat was ridiculous but Merlin really needed the money.

"No, it's fine." Merlin reluctantly replied. "Give it here, then." He held out his hands.

"No can do. This needs to be perfect. You don't know where the paint would look best." Arthur said. "I have to apply it for you. Get back into position, please."

Merlin glared at Arthur but did as he was told. Arthur studied him for a minute before he kneeled next to him. Merlin's breathing picked up when Arthur leaned in. _Why do his "hmms" have to be so distracting?_ Merlin thought. _I'm not going to live through this without embarrassing myself._

Arthur leaned forward suddenly and swiped a handful of black paint from Merlin's collarbone, down across his nipple. Merlin bit into his lower lip and shivered at the cold paint on his body. _I need to get out of my head and pay attention so I'm not surprised again._ Merlin berated himself.

Arthur grabbed more handfuls of paint and smeared his hands over Merlin's body. _This is all rather haphazard._ Merlin thought.

Then, Merlin's thoughts flew out the window when Arthur's wet fingers brushed against his thigh. Merlin let out a quiet grunt and hoped Arthur didn't notice the noise. The motion was repeated higher this time. _He is not moving his hands slower, it just seems like that to you._ Merlin reasoned with himself as his cock grew harder with every stroke of Arthur's fingers against his thighs. _Okay, maybe you aren't imagining it._ Merlin thought as he glanced up at Arthur. Arthur's pupils were dilated. Merlin's fingers twitched against his cock in response.

"Can I?" Arthur asked, all the smugness gone from his voice, as he slowly put his hand around Merlin's wrist. Merlin felt his face flush with heat and arousal. He wasn't about to turn down what Arthur was offering, just because of a slight poncey attitude.

Merlin nodded in response, not trusting his voice. Arthur pulled at Merlin's wrist until he released his cock. Then, he just stared at Merlin.

"Well?" Arthur questioned. Merlin looked at Arthur in confusion until he realized what he wanted.

"You want a show." Merlin stated. “I’ll give you a show." Merlin said with false bravado as he wrapped his hand around his hard cock.

His strokes were long and languid as he studied Arthur's face, he used his other hand to move across his body, smearing the black paint all over and ruining Arthur's artful lines. He sped up his strokes when Arthur moaned low in his throat. Merlin thrust into his hand. The precome from his head was keeping the paint wet enough that the sensation was pleasant. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the sensations. He needed release.

"Let me." Arthur said with a husky voice and Merlin felt Arthur's hand on his cock. Arthur's clothed chest pressed against his as their lips met in a wet kiss. Arthur moaned again and Merlin was done in. His orgasm crashed over him and all he could do was ride it.

When he came back down, Arthur was in front of him and throwing a towel at his face.

"Clean up. I expect you back here tomorrow so we can finish the painting." _What a prat._ Merlin thought . Arthur was out the door before he could say a word.

* * *

**38**

Warnings: smoking and some sort of prostitution or something  
Image(s) used: 09

It's not like he's done this before. He really doesn't know what to expect. All he knows is that he's paid for a bit of a show, and that the performer - Arthur, was it - is just on the other side of the door, getting ready.

Arthur's assistants have already tied Merlin down. His middle, ankles, and elbows are strapped to the chair, and only his hands are free. For right now, they are nervously gripping the armrests on the uncomfortable chair, but Merlin knows that soon he won't be able to keep them off his cock.

There is a knock on the door and Merlin's mouth goes dry. Arthur's assistants give each other a look and Merlin knows - he knows that it's about to start. His cock twitches with excited interest and one of the assistants glances over at the moment. Merlin can't help but blush, even though he knows that they are beyond used to seeing strangers' cocks - he's not used to having strangers see his cock.

After another knock, the assistants leave. Merlin is left alone for what feels like an eternity, but what he knows is really only a minute or two.

Finally, the door opens again and there - there, wrapped the fluffiest bathrobe Merlin has ever seen - there is Arthur.

Merlin gulps and his hands move of their own accord to his thighs.

Arthur smirks and turns to close the door. He stays facing away for a long moment - long enough that Merlin wonders if he's somehow having second thoughts, if he's decided that Merlin isn't worth the money, if he's going to give Merlin a refund and walk away without - 

One of Arthur's hands drifts up.

Merlin tries to lean forward, but he is stuck in the chair, forced to stay still and in place.

The bathrobe drops to the floor in a soft _whoosh_ and Merlin finds himself staring at what has to be the most perfect backside on the entire planet. It's round and firm and practically begging to be rubbed or pinched or licked or slapped or whipped or - 

Arthur turns and Merlin's eyes land on his cock. It's thick and long and red and _throbbing_ and perfect. There's a vein that sticks out on one side and Merlin wants to touch it - wants to lick it.

When Merlin finally manages to look away from Arthur's cock, he sees that Arthur is lighting a cigarette. And fuck, if Arthur's face isn't as perfect as the rest of him. He has a strong, beautiful nose, a chiseled jawline, wide lips, bright blue eyes, scruffy blond hair - the man is an Adonis and Merlin is utterly speechless.

"Do you smoke?" Arthur asks, striding forward toward Merlin's chair.

Merlin nods for some reason and Arthur pushes the cigarette into his mouth. He can taste Arthur on the filter for a moment, but then he breathes in and all he can taste is tobacco.

Arthur reaches out and trails his fingers down Merlin's jaw, then his neck. Merlin leans into the touch and Arthur's eyes light up, but then the moment is gone and Arthur is backing up and stroking his cock with a slow intensity.

"You're very pretty, for a man," he says in a low, hoarse voice.

Merlin takes a long drag off the cigarette hanging from his lips and exhales shakily before he lets himself touch his cock. Arthur grins and turns, then bends over and gives Merlin a devastating view of his arse.

"If I untied you, would you fuck me?"

Merlin leans his head back and looks up at the ceiling, not entirely sure if Arthur would let him - that's not what he paid for, after all. Arthur straightens up and turns around, and his expression is expectant and genuine. Merlin exhales on a "fuck yes."

* * *

**39**

Warnings: slight dub-con  
Image(s) used: 3

The water surface is calm and serene today, with only the smallest of waves lapping at the shoreline. It's a direct contrast with the turbulent swirl of emotions churning inside Merlin, threatening to pull him downwards if he doesn't receive the sign he's been searching for soon.

Seven years. It's been seven years to the day that he last stood at this very spot. He had been a mere lad of seventeen, choosing to spend every day of his last summer at the beachside. That fall, he would be thrust into the world of college and jobs, and he had been desperate to enjoy his vanishing amount of freedom while it lasted.

He waits now for the same boy--nay, the same _man_ \--he met that fateful day. He had been skipping stones against the water, the beach completely empty save for him. Or so he thought.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Merlin had startled at the voice, the stone previously in his hand dropping into the water with a loud plop. He whirled around to find steel-blue eyes boring into him with such ferocity that he shivered despite the sweltering heat. "...What?"

"This is my beach, what are you doing here?"

Flawless tanned skin that glistened under the rivulets of water cascading over it, golden hair that glowed like the sun even while damp--the man was the epitome of male perfection. He was also completely naked and scowling in Merlin's direction.

"...What?" Merlin repeated, struggling to compose himself. "What are you talking about? This is a public beach, you know. "

"No, this is _my_ beach." Strong fingers had shot out to ensnare Merlin's wrist, their touch cool and clammy. "You trespassed on it, so now you are mine as well."

Merlin might have protested, might have fought it at first, he doesn't remember. But it hadn't been long before he surrendered to the hungry mouth pressing against his, the exploratory hands that roamed every inch of his body. Soon he had been naked as well, his pale skin a beacon against the shore’s black pebbles as he was pushed down. The incoming tide licked at the edges of his heated flesh, and he shivered once more as lips closed over one of his nipples.

"Mine," The man growled, his tone nearing animalistic as he made his way down Merlin's body, biting hard enough to leave a mark. Merlin jerked his hips upwards and moaned, pre-come already beading at the tip of his cock.

Their bodies rutted against each other for needed friction until the man reached down and enclosed both of their hardened cocks in the cusp of his palm. White hot stars burst in front of Merlin's eyes at the first stroke, and he arched his back as the pace increased, hissing at the rocks digging into his shoulders but delighting in the pain at the same time. It was frantic and messy, and soon he came forcefully with a loud cry, the man coming with a grunt not too long afterwards.

"Take me home."

It had been a command, not a question, and Merlin almost agreed without a second thought. But then the orgasm-induced fog lifted from his mind, and he had panicked. "...But I don't even know you!"

"I'm Arthur. Take me home now."

"I can't! We just met and--”

The man-- _Arthur_ \--had pulled away before Merlin could say anything else, disappearing under the waves of the sea. There was only a flash of golden brown seal skin, and Merlin was left feeling utterly bereft.

It had taken years before he fully understood, and he pored over so many books on the subject he ended up majoring in it. But as he stands there like all the texts instruct he should, Merlin wonders if he’s making a foolish mistake over what was probably just a simple dream.

The answer comes in the form of an excited bark, and then Arthur emerges, water coursing down his naked form. He's hardly changed, save for a few faded scars that mar his skin, no doubt from close encounters with fishermen or other sea life. Once again, Merlin feels guilty for his hesitation years ago, but Arthur doesn't seem to care as he smiles widely, eagerly. "Take me home."

“...I will,” Merlin says, stepping away from the pile of clothes he’s already shed. “But you need to take me first.”

* * *

**40**

Image(s) used: 02

One of the awkward things about being a werewolf, Freya had found, was sex. Freya knew how she liked sex. She liked scented candles. She liked back rubs. She liked taking things gentle. She liked taking things slow. Unfortunately, the wolf had other ideas, and the sort of guys Freya liked to date and the sort of guys who liked to be bitten without warning did not tend to overlap.

And then there was Merlin, who was about as sweet and gentle as they came, who’d taken it ever so gallantly when she’d put off sleeping with him for so long. Who was currently in her bed ( _at last_ ).

“Mmph.” He pulled back from kissing her. “I just want you to know –” Freya looped an arm around his neck and kissed him again.

“You talk too much.” She faked a scowl.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said with a sloppy grin.

“All is forgiven.” She kissed him, hands tangling with his hair. He kissed back, harder, deeper, tongue sliding into her mouth, and things started to get heated, warmth pooling down low, and –

Her nails dug into the flesh of his shoulder, clawing at him. She didn’t realise just how hard until he let out a pained sound. “Sorry.” 

“S’alright.” He kissed her again, one hand on her breast, thumbing at a nipple. Freya tried to breathe, to keep in control, and she managed until his fingers brushed her inner thigh.

The other awkward thing about werewolf sex was that you were so ungodly sensitive. Freya had flipped them over and pinned Merlin to the bed before she even knew what she was doing, and he just had time to say,

“ _Wow_ , you’re quite strong, aren’t you –”

– before she dragged her nails down his chest hard enough to leave angry red marks. Merlin hissed and arched up into Freya’s touch, and she had a brief moment of panic before he said, “ _Fuck_ , do that again,” voice shaking in a way that kind of made her want to cuddle him but also made her want to do it again, now.

She scratched him again, clawing at his chest, and he squirmed, making the most delicious noises. 

“Your nails are _sharp_ , oh god –” and then he was pushing up, hands on her hips, head of his dick pushing up against her. “Can I –”

“Oh god _yes_.” She clung onto his shoulders while he slid into her, nails biting at his skin – he felt _so good_ inside her, she pushed back down, rocking against him, riding him. The wolf loved it, and she had to muffle a growl by pulling him up and burying her face in his neck, sinking her teeth in.

For a second she thought that might be too much, but he was thrusting into her, hands scratching at her back. He choked out, “yes, that, _harder_ ,” so she bit him again, nails still digging into his shoulder blades.

“Oh god,” he whimpered, “Oh god, _please_ ,” as the wolf grew more and more frantic – he was _hers_ , her mate, and she would have all of him, thank you very much – “Oh _god_ ,” then frantic gasping as he came throbbing inside her, and the scent of him was enough to tip Freya over the edge, biting down on his neck harder than ever.

They slumped back, and she nuzzled at him, trying not to look him in the eye just yet.

“Well, that was unexpected,” he said. “Also, _ow_.” 

Freya blushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you – well, I did a bit, but –”

“No, it’s fine.” He rubbed at his neck. “It was good. I mean, weird. But good!”

The scratch marks on his chest and shoulders were starkly red. The bite-marks on his neck were starting to come up purple. Freya felt a strange sense of pride looking down at him.

“I can’t help it,” she mumbled. “I just have these urges sometimes.”

“No, I like it. I foresee a lot of scarf-wearing in the next few days, though. _Ow_.” 

Freya giggled, then sobered. “We need to talk. Pretty soon. Nothing serious – or it is serious, but not – there’s just something you should know about me.” 

“It’s okay.” Freya drew back to look him in the eye.

“You don’t even know what it is yet.” 

“I said it’s okay.” He was petting her back, and he looked so peaceful and happy amid the pillows that she couldn’t help but be reassured. She smiled back.

* * *

**41**

Image(s) used: 12

Maille does not a perfect warrior make.

Maille has weakspots, it’s heavy, it needs constant upkeep and repair, it’s heavy, it pinches in inconvenient places, and oh yes, it’s _heavy_.

These are things to which one grows accustomed, when one is prince.

But, by the by, it has its uses. Beyond avoiding death and dismemberment, that is. It hides secrets, you see. Hides soft bellies and imperfect strides. Gives one confidence even when facing down an angry man with a sword intent on cutting you deeply for love and country.

It also hides scars.

Not that Arthur’s all that bothered by scars. He has them; he won them fairly but they’re nothing to brag about. Would that life didn’t involve so many scars, but it did, and his did especially, and that was that.

He wasn’t bothered, at least, until Merlin.

\---

Castles at night are dark, no matter how many torches you light, and Arthur is thankful for this as he herds Merlin towards his bed, hands under scratchy clothing and lips pressed wherever he can reach. This is the third time this has happened, and Arthur’s adjusting, he thinks, to the idea of bedding a manservant, emphasis on the ‘man.’ Merlin’s skin is smooth, and his mouth is supple, and, as a pleasant surprise, he keeps the level of idiocy at a minimum. So it’s been a worthwhile endeavour, all things considered.

Tonight, though, Merlin has been in his cups. Not so much so that he’s having trouble performing. Just so much so that he’s having trouble keeping his damned mouth shut. It’s a spectacular narration of what Arthur’s trying to remain convinced is a rather mundane occasion, and it’s very nearly making Arthur blush. If he did such things.

“Merlin, just shut up and enjoy it, will you?” He manages to extricate an especially uncoordinated Merlin from his clothes, sheds his own, then coaxes Merlin to lie back, licking kisses into what he can because—because there’s moonlight coming in where usually there is not, and Merlin’s skin is on display. And it is _flawless_.

Arthur slows to a stop, and stares. Until Merlin squirms a little. “Arthur--”

“Shush.”

“Arthur.”

“Merlin, for the love of--”

But Merlin has that strange strength of the intoxicated, and the element of surprise, so Arthur suddenly finds himself on his back. He tenses, but Merlin doesn’t seem to have nefarious purposes. He merely seems to be… contemplating Arthur’s body.

“Your skin is very rough,” he says quietly. Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but Merlin continues, his hands smoothing up and down Arthur’s torso and beyond. “It’s seen so much, right? Battles and tournaments and wayward tailors and sorcerers and days on horseback and—and so many things.”

Arthur swallows. The lines Merlin’s hands are following– well, they’re not prescribed, nor are they very logical. It’s as if he’s—Arthur can only think it’s as if he’s being _painted_. Expensively, expansively painted, like he’s a castle Merlin wants to show off.

Fates save him from intoxicated manservants, Arthur thinks, and takes control back with a firm grip. He settles Merlin across his hips so their cocks are aligned, then puts his hand in front of Merlin’s face long enough for him to get the hint and gift it with the warmth of his mouth.

Then, with his palm around them both, his other hand roving up and down Merlin’s skin in an unconscious and attempt at repayment, he guides them both to fairly outstanding releases, if he does say so himself. Afterwards, Merlin fwumps down onto him, boneless and muttering something about charcoal. Arthur shakes his head and reaches for an abandoned piece of clothing—hopefully Merlin’s—to wipe up the mess.

Merlin’s hand catches as just after he’s thrown the soiled cloth back to the floor. “C’mere,” Merlin mumbles, tugging Arthur into a truly undignified position. He thinks about resisting, but he’s tired and the bed is soft and Merlin is a surprisingly good bedmate, despite the sharp elbows and knees and a tendency to put off an alarming amount of heat.

But he doesn’t fall asleep right away. The moon is still bright and, well, Merlin is all stretched out in front of him, illuminated like a manuscript. He can’t help but reach out and draw lines, sweep expanses of affection into this perfect shell on this imperfect man.

Instead of sleep, he does the best he can, and paints the moonlight onto Merlin’s skin.

* * *

**42**

Image(s) used: 01

Somehow, during what was supposed to be a strictly heterosexual camping trip, an innocent game of outdoor Twister has evolved into a less-than-innocent game of outdoor _strip_ Twister. Now, the word 'innocent' can no longer be applicable, because Arthur's shirtless, Gwaine's naked, and they're both pulling Merlin's shorts off of him with terrifyingly determined vigour. To top it off, Lance is licking at Merlin's ear, making Merlin squirm and laugh even harder.

"Stop! Jesus Christ, guys, stop!" Merlin is yelling in protest, Arthur binding Merlin's arms and Gwaine's fingernails scratching against Merlin's hips as he yanks off the shorts.

"C'mon Merlin, even Lance wants to see your junk," Gwaine laughs, and finally Merlin's shorts are flying through the air, landing on a stray bush, and Merlin is completely and utterly _naked_.

Mission complete, Arthur drops Merlin to the floor unceremoniously. "Hah," he says, triumphant, as Merlin blushes a bright tomato-red. Lance barks and disappears into the forest, probably distracted by a woodland animal. "Why so shy, _Mer_ lin? No one can see you."

" _You_ can see me," Merlin points out with a glare, but doesn't bother to cover himself up - not with Gwaine similarly as starkers as he is. Merlin narrows his eyes at Arthur. "Now _you're_ in the minority. I think it's time you stripped too."

Gwaine grins, lecherous, at Arthur's plain horror. "It's only fair, pretty boy. C'mere!"

In seconds, Merlin and Gwaine have wrestled Arthur to the ground. Somehow, when they surface, Gwaine has Arthur's shorts, Merlin's even redder than before, and Arthur has a raging hard-on.

"Um," Merlin stammers. " _Oh._ "

Arthur's so embarrassed, he's struck dumb. So it leaves Gwaine, of course, to break the tense and awkward silence. "Orgy, anyone?"

"Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you, Gwaine?" Arthur hisses, standing up with little grace. Merlin stares at Arthur's erection openly, eyes wide. "And for crying out loud, stop staring, Merlin! This can't be the first time you've seen another guy's dick!"

Merlin averts his eyes; he can't possibly look any redder. Gwaine's eyes are still piercing on Arthur, though. "I can help you with that, you know," he suggests, completely casually.

"What the fuck?" Arthur rolls his eyes as Merlin nearly chokes on his own spit. Clearly he's trying hard to wish away his erection, but it remains stubbornly at full mast. "Unless you can grow a pair of tits and get rid of your dick, there's no way I'm letting you touch me, you bastard."

Gwaine shrugs. "If you close your eyes, my hand and my mouth will feel just like a girl's. Promise."

"Go fuck yourself, Gwaine."

Arthur's turning away, ready to stalk back into the tent, when he's stopped by the half timid, half yearning sound of Merlin's voice. "If I close my eyes, will you... help me?"

When Arthur turns around, he sees Merlin's plain desire: his pale complexion is flushed all over, especially his cock, jutting out from the dark curls of his groin. "Merlin?"

Gwaine's grin is wide and eager. "It would be my pleasure, M. I do it all the time, I know what I'm doing."

"I know," Merlin snaps, sounding much more like himself - more confident, less afraid of the outcome of his rash decision. "I've heard it. Fuck, I've _seen_ you do it. You're not exactly private about this stuff."

Gwaine looks almost proud as he walks up to Merlin, Arthur looking on with growing surreal bewilderment. "I'll have you know that the Gwaine Experience is _legendary_ ," he brags, and then, without any warning, he pushes Merlin against a tree and wraps a hand around his cock. "Close your eyes, Merlin," he whispers. "You're about to have the best orgasm of your fucking life."

It takes less than thirty seconds for Merlin's breath to start to shudder, his hips arching hungrily into Gwaine's spit-slick hand. It takes another minute before Arthur's striding over, for Gwaine to shove him against the tree too, and swallow Arthur's cock in one smooth slide.

"Fuck," Arthur's panting, hand tugging at Gwaine's hair. "Fucking _hell_."

Later, Arthur will deny it, but when he comes in Gwaine's mouth with a sharp cry, it's not the lips wrapped around his cock that send him over the edge, but the eager, keening whine that Merlin makes against Arthur's jaw as his come paints Gwaine's chest; the sound that Arthur then smothers with another kiss, more dirty and demanding than before, tongue thrust down Merlin's throat and licking him inside-out.

* * *

**43**

Warnings: very mild drug use  
Image(s) used: 9 and 10

**oh, the night is young**

Mithian shuts the door and sags back against it, exhaling in relief. She can still hear the vague strains of dub-step filtering through from the party downstairs but it’s distant, muted, and Mithian can easily hide in here until Gwaine and Elena decide they want to leave. 

“Pardon my French,” a familiar voice says, drifting out of the dark, “but what the fuck are you doing in here?”

Mithian blinks. Morgana le Fay’s curled up by the open window, moonlight striping her face, wisps of greyish smoke swirling around her. 

“Oh,” Mithian says, feeling suddenly flustered. “I’m hiding from the party. What about you?”

And that’s kind of a stupid question, given that there’s a joint dangling from Morgana’s fingers and Mithian doesn’t even have to inhale for the smell of pot to hit her lungs, but Morgana just laughs. 

“Same,” she says, “except this is my room.”

Mithian’s eyes widen. “I’m so sorry!” she says. “I didn’t realise, I just wanted to get away.”

Morgana laughs again, but it sounds genuine this time. “It’s fine,” she says. “I totally understand, trust me.”

Mithian’s eyes have adjusted enough for her to see Morgana lift the hand holding the joint to crook her fingers in the universal _come hither_ motion. Mithian does, a little uncertainly, and perches next to Morgana. This close, Mithian can see the faint smirk on Morgana’s face, and she’s glad it’s still too dark for Morgana to see her flush. 

Or so she thought. Morgana chuckles, exhaling a cloud of smoke all over Mithian which makes her cough violently. 

“Sorry,” Morgana says, not sounding very apologetic. “You not a big smoker, then?”

Mithian’s still coughing, so she only shakes her head. “I like the smell, though,” she offers, when she can speak again. “I don’t mind, y’know.”

Morgana cocks her head, like she’s considering something, and then she smiles. “Open your mouth,” she says, and Mithian does. 

Morgana wraps her lips around the joint and inhales, cheeks hollowing out. Then she leans forward and presses her lips to Mithian’s, exhaling into her mouth. Her breath tastes smoky-sweet and Mithian inhales, feeling it rush into her lungs. She doesn’t cough when Morgana pulls away, but it’s not without concerted effort. 

“Not bad,” Morgana murmurs, and then she leans back in and kisses Mithian, one hand on her bare thigh and one hand cupping her jaw to tilt her face into it. 

Mithian thinks she should push her away, probably, because Morgana’s high and Mithian really doesn’t do this, but Morgana bites down, gently, darting out her tongue to trace the seam of Mithian’s lips, and Mithian opens without any resistance.

The kiss deepens and Mithian gets so lost in it, in Morgana’s mouth and the warmth of her body, that she doesn’t notice Morgana’s hand’s crept up her thigh until she feels fingers rubbing her through her knickers. 

Mithian makes a very undignified noise and rocks down, can’t help it. Her cheeks are burning because if she can feel the sudden wetness between her thighs then Morgana definitely can, but Morgana just pulls back a little, laughing. It doesn’t sound mean, though, and her eyes are soft when she looks back at Mithian. 

“If you don’t want to do this,” she says, “now would be a good time to say so.”

Mithian shakes her head hard, says, “No objections,” her voice embarrassingly shaky. “There are probably negative objections, even.”

Morgana laughs again, head tipping back, and it’s such a cliché but she looks beautiful like this, the moonlight outlining her in sharp relief. Mithian can’t help but stare, her mouth suddenly dry. 

“Good to know,” Morgana says, and then her fingers are slipping inside Mithian’s knickers, thumb pressed tight to her clit. Morgana bites at Mithian’s collarbone, sucking over the spot in the same rhythm of her fingers pushing into Mithian. 

Mithian arches against her and gasps something that might be _more_ and might be Morgana’s name. She can hardly think, nerves sparking all over her body until everything whites out and she comes, shaking in Morgana’s grip. 

It takes her a moment to come back to herself, to notice Morgana wiping her fingers off on a tissue. Mithian kind of wants to thank her, but she’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to say thank you for orgasms, so she just kisses Morgana, reaching for the zip on her jeans.

* * *

**44**

Image(s) used: Image #12

The night air was warm, the warmth almost stifling under the heavy cloak he wore. The red of the material stood out starkly among the more natural colors the Druids wore. His men fanned out beside him in a sea of red, standing tall at his side and Arthur nodded for them to join in the festivities. 

Drums filled the silence with their beat. The clearing in the woods that had been chosen was illuminated by the full moon overhead as well torches that had been planted into the earth. 

Only Lancelot and Percival stayed at his side as he moved forward to where the crowd had gathered in a circle. At the center was Merlin, the light flickering across his pale skin as a robe was slipped off his shoulders. His dark head was bowed as an older woman approached him holding a bowel. Arthur watched as Merlin nervously tried to cover himself. Only Percival’s firm grip on his arm kept him still. 

His council had gone into an uproar when he’d announced that he would give the Druids the honor of the ceremony. Breaking with the tradition of having it take place in Camelot. The Old Religion had brought them together, and Arthur would do his best to honor that.

The old women was handed a brush and she used it to scoop up a black tar from the bowel. She began to spread it across the pale body, moving it across Merlin’s chest and then to his thighs. “It’s to signify power.” Gwen told Arthur as she slipped to stand beside her husband, Lancelot’s arm wrapping around her waist. “And the power you two will share as you unite the kingdom.” 

“Clearly.” Arthur’s voice was derisive as he watched Merlin fidget. Percival still hadn’t let go of his arm and it was likely the only reason Arthur hadn’t put an end to this. Merlin glanced up and his eyes locked with Arthur’s as the drumming increased in tempo, people packing in tighter around them. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the flash of red as his men returned to his side. Merlin’s lips turned into what could almost be a smile.

“It’s time Sire.” Percival’s grip loosened and his hands moved to Arthur’s shoulder, deftly removing the cloak he wore. 

Gwaine moved into view as his hands went to the tie of his breeches “Put on a good show yeah? Now’s not the time for performance anxiety.”

Arthur snorted stepping away from them as he pulled his shirt over his head and toed off his boots. “I don’t think I’ll have a problem with that.” Merlin’s blush deepened as Arthur pushed down his breeches, his hand circling his hardening cock.

The Druids chanted but Arthur paid them little attention as he approached Merlin, coming to stand in front of him. Merlin swallowed deeply and there was an edge to his voice as he whispered “I didn’t expect there to be this many people.” 

With Gwen and Lancelot it had just been them and Arthur’s men, Elyan spending a good amount of the time trying to look anywhere else but his sister’s marriage bed. 

Arthur gripped his arm, his fingers smearing the tar as he spread it across Merlin’s skin. His other hand cupped his chin and he tilted his head back placing a biting kiss to his lips “They came to see you.” Merlin shuddered. He pulled him close feeling their skin slide together, the black tar now staining Arthur’s skin as well “and of course I have a reputation for being devastatingly handsome.”

Merlin laughed and he his lips found Arthur’s shoulder “Prat.”

“All yours now.” Arthur whispered against his ear before he bit down lightly on the lobe and moved his hands down Merlin’s side, pushing him down. He followed, kneeling as he laid Merlin down before him. Arthur’s hand explored the body he had years to become familiar with, bypassing the hardening cock and feeling behind the balls. He smirked finding him already wet and loose, “I do enjoy it when you prepare yourself for me.”

Merlin returned his grin, his confidence returning as he focused on Arthur “Yes, well I didn’t want to leave it up to your lazy arse.”

Arthur laughed and pressed another kiss to Merlin’s lips as he hoisted pale legs around his hips. Merlin gasped his eyes burning gold as he pressed in and the drumming only got louder.

* * *

**45**

Warnings: voyeurism, drug use  
Image(s) used: #9

Arthur isn’t sure when it started, but it hasn’t stopped since.

He lights up the joint quickly, fingers fumbling slightly in his eagerness—or perhaps that’s just his delayed motor functions, but Arthur would never admit to that.

He brings the joint up to his lips, taking a drag as he settles into his usual chair by the window. He checks his watch briefly; just past five o’clock.

Let the show begin.

In the room across the street from his, the door opens and a young man enters, slumping against it as if tired.

He never looks toward the window, or at least he hasn’t once since this started. Maybe, if he did, he would realise he never closes the blinds, and that Arthur is in plain sight across from him—completely naked but for his socks—as he watches.

But the man continues not to notice, and Arthur can’t think of a reason to (doesn’t want to) stop.

Eventually the man pushes himself away from the door, coming to stand in the middle of the room.

That’s when he starts taking his hoodie off.

Arthur tenses, hand travelling to where his cock is already half-mast just at the _thought_ of the man undressing.

His shirt rises slightly as the hoodie comes off, and Arthur groans around the joint at the line of hair travelling downwards from his navel.

He gives his cock a perfunctory stroke, but he’s far more focussed on watching the man strip.

Arthur still isn’t sure when it first started, but he remembers feeling disgusted with himself, for jerking off to a man who doesn’t even realise what’s going on. And yet, Arthur has never been able to bring himself to close his own blinds instead.

He feels like less of a sick person if he does it while smoking.

The man’s shirt is off now, and he’s unbuttoning his jeans. Arthur’s hand begins moving a bit faster as his anticipation rises.

When he slides his boxers off though, Arthur gives up all pretence and readjusts his grip on his cock, pre-come making the glide of fingers against dick that much smoother.

The man has his back to the window now, and Arthur imagines rubbing himself between those pert cheeks before slipping inside, his cock catching on the rim of the man’s hole.

It’d be rough, with very little preparation; the man can handle it, Arthur thinks, would love it even, his eyes blown black with lust as Arthur fucks him thoroughly.

Arthur wonders if the man would be a screamer.

He tilts his head back, allowing his eyes to fall closed as he lets his imagination take over. He balances the joint carefully in his mouth, his other hand reaching down to massage his balls as he continues to jerk himself off, swiping his thumb against the slit and gasping at the jolt of pleasure it sends through him.

He imagines it’s the man’s hands on him, instead, imagines him getting on his knees and looking up at Arthur coyly before swallowing him down in one go due to his superb gag reflex. He would let Arthur fuck his mouth, because he can’t get enough of the taste.

Arthur’s orgasm hits him without warning, and he slumps back in the chair, feeling loose-limbed but hardly content.

He desperately wishes he knew the man’s name.

He puts the joint out, or at least he thinks he does; his mind is hazy due to a combination of it and his orgasm both, and Arthur allows himself to pass out where he’s sitting, uncaring of his current state of undress.

He wakes up to his throat burning and the intense blue gaze of the man staring down at him.

Arthur wants to say something, but instead breaks out into a coughing fit, and the man makes quiet soothing sounds.

“Easy,” he says once Arthur’s coughing has ceased. “There was a fire. You were unconscious, but I got you out.”

Arthur takes in the man’s yellow helmet and realises he must be a firefighter. He also realises that he apparently _didn’t_ put the joint out properly.

“Thank you,” he rasps. His throat is raw.

“I’m just glad you’re okay. The medic wants to check you over, though.”

Arthur nods, but he doesn’t want the man to go. He’s horribly aware of the fact that he’s still naked but for a blanket thrown over him.

“I’m Arthur,” he manages to get out.

The man smiles.

“Merlin.”

* * *

**46**

Image(s) used: #4

Morgana wakes as soon as the mattress shifts and she slides her arm into the empty, warm space next to her, curling herself into the dent of the pillow and sighing. 

"Surely, Arthur doesn’t need you before breakfast. Stay." 

His body a sharp, slim silhouette in the early morning half-light, Merlin could be one of the uni students who populate the city. He carries his age in the weight of his gaze and all of it -- their rivalries, their rebirths, their years apart -- rests on Morgana until the sound of his mobile steals Merlin's attention away.

"I should go." 

"Did he text you a picture of his dick? Is that why you're ready to leave so quickly?"

"He's the _prince._ He doesn't text anyone things -- things like that." 

Merlin tosses his mobile onto the bed, crosses his arms over his bare chest, and lifts his chin in that boyish, defiant manner he's never lost. Morgana's hand hovers over the phone; she's curious, but not curious enough to accept the dare. Instead she slips out of bed and pads over to Merlin, rests her cheek against the back of his shoulder and bushes a kiss against his skin. 

"Breakfast before you answer your summons to Clarence House? Or a coffee, at least? Cigarette? Aha." 

There are some addictions that neither time nor magic can cure; for Merlin, it's nicotine. Nicotine and Arthur, perhaps, but Morgana can remember more than one lifetime when Merlin's managed to give up Arthur. Simple, straightford craving: cigarette smoke and his lost prince. 

Morgana's addictions tangle themselves up around her again and again; the longing for recognition and affection, the warmth of Gwen's hand on her breast and the tightness of Morgause's around her wrist; the ozone-metallic tang of magic on her tongue when she kisses Merlin, and the brilliant snarl of affection, hatred, and desire that draws her to him despite resitance. 

Two cups of coffee and three times as many cigarettes later, Merlin's more mellow, even happy enough to catch Morgana's lips against his and murmur how he has enough time to wait a little longer. 

Happy enough to let Morgana light his cigarettes and touch his lips after he exhales, smoke winding around her fingers as Merlin kisses their tips.

"You should stay." Morgana puts an arm around Merlin's waist to draw him to her when he stands.

"I can't…"

"You can. You can decide to stay."

Merlin kisses the palm of her hand, the inside of her wrist, and rests his cheek against her shoulder. "I can't."

"All right." She's used to that answer; she longs for it, too, and for the reassurance that she won't grow accustomed to the taste of his mouth and the scent of his skin. "Just stay long enough, then," Morgana says and takes the cigarette from his fingers and lets the smoke twist around her head while she leans in to kiss Merlin. 

It's strange how, beneath the coffee and smoke, he always tastes the same and how he always kisses her with a distinct desperation, as if he can't get close enough to her. Merlin sighs into Morgana's mouth, and catches his breath, quick and sharp, as she moves away. 

He's already half erect; her hand on his cock, her fingers around the length of hit, coaxing him to full hardness, pull another sharp breath from his throat. 

"Not yet -- just, a little more." Merlin's voice trembles; he likes it better when she lingers, touching him and petting him, nuzzling him softly. 

Morgana likes it better when he comes hard and fast, his climax barely a breath on his lips. She'd rather his tongue inside her than his cock, his lips red, wet, and slick after eating her out and his fingers slipping inside to get her to come again, and deeper, a second time right after.

She'd rather his cock in her hand, like this, hard and hot, his hips tilting up to seek her touch even when he whimpers for more and less at the same time. Morgana gives him a little of what he wants: slides her thumb over the tip of his erection, noses into the hair behind his ear and whispers something wordless and fond, and holds him when he comes before he's ready. 

"Now you should go," she murmurs.

Face buried in her shoulder, Merlin nods.

* * *

**47**

Warnings: lycanthropy + magic = dubcon/sex pollen  
Image(s) used: #10

The latch caught and rattled twice before he managed to get the shutters properly closed. Merlin brushed the droplets of rain from his face before he turned around. Arthur's eyes were glittering at him from the bed. "You're awake- it's been a week!" he said, stupidly relieved, hurrying forward to press the back of his hand to Arthur's neck. 

But no, the fever was worse. Merlin muttered a quick cooling charm on the basin of water by the bed and refreshed the useless towel on Arthur's forehead. Arthur made a soft sound, insensible; his eyes were open, but still fever-bright and barely tracking him. As the rain began to pelt down in earnest outside, Merlin swallowed back his fear, pulled down the blanket and set to work wiping down Arthur's neck, armpits and groin with a wet cloth again, taking care to avoid the blood-stained bandages on his thigh.

He lifted the loose dressings to check on the strange bite wound- Arthur's hand shot out and caught his wrist, and he had dragged Merlin across the bed and rolled over on top of him by the time he understood what he had seen: that the wound had healed over completely, leaving only luminous silvery scars where the inflamed gashes had been.

"Arthur," Merlin inhaled sharply as Arthur buried his face in his neck and sucked in air like a drowning man; when he felt the press of teeth at his throat Merlin jerked and shoved hard at his shoulders. "What are you-"

Arthur growled, hesitated, then yielded, followed the direction of Merlin's push downwards to breathe in Merlin's belly, and Merlin yelped and tried to scramble backwards, stopped when his head thumped on the headboard as Arthur growled and pressed his face between Merlin's legs. "Arthur!" and there was a high note of panic in his voice then, and Arthur froze, and with a visible effort of will, crawled slowly up Merlin's body to stare groggily in his eyes, hands framing Merlin's face in a gentle, inexorable hold.

"Merlin," he rasped out, "you smell like..." Arthur groaned, and his hips jolted spasmodically against Merlin's, pressing a hot ridge of flesh into his thigh. Merlin shivered, involuntarily pressing back into Arthur's too-warm body as Arthur panted, sipped delicately at Merlin's lips. "I- I want-" Arthur whispered into his mouth, urgent, and the slight stutter made it sound like _I need_ -

-and because their bodies fit together so perfectly, because Arthur was still gently rocking against Merlin, easing them down into the bed, and because Merlin had never wanted to say no to him, he said, "yes, please," and pulled Arthur close instead of pushing him away, and Arthur rumbled low and deep in his chest with satisfaction, turning his face to mouth Merlin's neck and jaw softly, with only the barest press of sharp teeth in the delicate skin as Merlin shivered and clutched at his back.

"-please," Arthur echoed, and rutted hard against his leg, desperate and furious. Merlin groped blindly for his belt, wanting to feel skin on skin, and Arthur caught his hand again and pulled it to palm the hot flesh between his legs. "No," he said, sudden clarity in his too-bright eyes. "If you let me- if I do this now- I think-" he broke off, panted. "I _will_ hurt you." He groaned again, piteous, drew Merlin's hand up and down to explore his hardness and the strange, unnatural swelling at the base.

It should horrify him, horrify them both, Merlin thought, remembering the diagrams and terse warnings in Gaius's bestiary, about the physical changes, the monstrous instincts- but all of this, it was too much to take in, too fast, and really, how could he care about such things when he had Arthur here, like this, and halfway to tears with the desperate need to fuck him? "You can, I don't care," he said, reckless, dizzy with want, and Arthur growled and pressed him harder into the bed, if that was possible.

"No, not tonight." Arthur glared, determined. "I can't- can't stop, can't control-" Arthur bore down between his legs and slid up, down, until he found a way to pin his hardness tightly between their bodies, and held Merlin there, and rutted into him for an eternity, until the impossible swelling finally wore down and they were both exhausted, drenched in his seed.

And again, and again, until the sun rose, and the moon set, and they finally slept.

* * *

**48**

Image(s) used: #12

“I want you to star in my music video for film class,” Arthur says one day while they're sitting out on the lawn drinking beers.

“Uh,” Merlin says, “okay?”

“I want to do La Tortura,” Arthur says, grinning.

“Isn't that the one where Shakira is rubbing crude oil all over her body while that dude creeps on her and eats his Chinese food?” Merlin asks, more concerned about this project than he was a minute ago.

“Yeah, that one. I already have Morgana on board,” Arthur tells him. 

Merlin only agrees because _really_ , Morgana popping her hips and rubbing herself on tables is something he would pay good money to see.

That Thursday, he shows up at the warehouse Arthur somehow, mysteriously got permission to use and it is only then that he realizes his mistake.

“You want _me_ to do all the dancing and oil-rubbing?” he nearly shouts at Arthur once Arthur has explained his grand plan. Apparently, Morgana is set to play the part of the creepy dude and all she has to do is sit back and enjoy the show.

“It was Morgana's idea. She said something about fucking with gender binaries or the norm or something. She said she was inspired by some dude called Joe Calzone.”Arthur replies, shrugging.

“Jo Calderone? Dude, that's Lady Gaga,” Merlin replies, groaning.

“What? No. Are you even listening to what I'm saying, Merlin?”

“Jo Calderone _is_ Lady Gaga. It's her alter ego or something,” Merlin tells him. Arthur gives him a really confused look, but carries on anyway.

“Whatever, it'll be fine,” he says. 

Merlin really, really doesn't believe him.

“My hips don't move like that. I can't wiggle and scoot around all sexily on tables,” Merlin whines, hours of shooting later.

“But Merlin,” Arthur smirks, “your hips don't lie.”

Merlin flings a handful of the gooey black stuff that Arthur had assured him many times over is “definitely safe to rub on your chest” and only just barely misses hitting the camera.

It takes them forever to perfect the scene where Merlin is wiggling across the kitchen table while Morgana sits back in the chair and watches because Morgana keeps cracking up half way through. Merlin simply isn't made to move gracefully, much less sexily, and it's really a problem.

Except that, somehow, it isn't. Eventually Arthur tells him “that's it, that's it” and starts flailing around like a madman. They do another three takes and on the last, Arthur goes uncharacteristically silent and starts trying to hold his hands over his crotch in this way that Merlin figures out means-

“Arthur you have an boner!” Morgana shouts, disgusted.

“Shut up!” He shouts back.

Morgana storms off disgusted. But they were mostly done anyway, so it doesn't really matter.

“I'm really sorry,” Arthur says quietly, coming over to stand next to Merlin. It's not really what he was expecting and when he looks up, the expression on Arthur's face is so adorably and utterly embarrassed. It's stupid, but the only thing Merlin can think to do right then is to kiss him. So he does.

And Arthur kisses back.

Then pushes him back against the table because Arthur can't ever let anything be sweet or nice and is always far too demanding.

“We are not having sex,” Merlin says firmly against Arthur's mouth as Arthur's roving hands slide over his chest.

“But-”

“No. You will try to use this disgusting black stuff as lube and that will end terribly for everyone involved,” Merlin continues.

Arthur pulls back looking thoroughly disappointed and pulls out his best pleading face.

“But... I guess you could suck me off,” Merlin says finally, giving in. He always gives in where Arthur is concerned.

Arthur is actually surprisingly good at sucking cock, through where he learned it, Merlin can't even begin to guess. He goes about his task with the same determined expression he usually wears when he's on his way to job interviews and if that isn't just Arthur all over, Merlin isn't entirely sure what is.

Later, Merlin takes Arthur home with him and apparently the 17 minutes it takes them to drive there, get up the stairs and unlock the door is just long enough for Arthur to get his libido back and push Merlin up against the wall just inside the door and start attacking his mouth.

Merlin tells him to wait until after he's had his shower. So naturally Arthur just follows him into the shower instead and fucks him against the tile, humming Shakira in his ear all the while. Some days Merlin has to wonder why he loves this idiot so much.

* * *

**49**

Image used: #9

**Don’t Tap the Glass**

Arthur doesn’t see the artistry in the light fixture made of condom wrappers or the fruit-insertion photography displayed throughout Morgana’s gallery. But he sees it here; this isn’t filth or shock-entertainment – this is _art_. He’s struck breathless by the beauty of it. The small square of glass is at eye level. His first impression was that it was video screen, but Arthur’s watched long enough to know with certainty that it’s simply a window. There’s a hole cut through the wall so that the framed glass affords a view into the next room and the head of a bed where a naked man is wanking. 

_Don’t tap the glass; he’s shy._ Arthur smirks at the silver script below this particular piece of performance art. The irony of a shy exhibitionist is exactly the sort of humour Morgana has sprinkled throughout her eclectic collection: _Sexuality in Art_.

A lit cigarette dangles from the man’s pouty lips as he reaches down and grabs himself and Arthur needs to walk away. He does a quick circle of the exhibit in a futile attempt to pretend he’s not enraptured and because he’s so close to coming at the sight of the smoke and the sweat and the spread of the man’s legs. He’s been watching for far too long now, having seen the man paint his pale chest with come once, wipe himself clean, oblivious to the crowd milling around on the other side of the wall. The man simply poured himself a glass of water and lit a cigarette before lying back on the bed as if he were at home on a Saturday afternoon with nothing better to do than keep his dick in his hand.

Arthur comes back before too long. He leans on a pillar, like the casual stance will make anyone think he’s bored when he knows his face is flushed. The program he has covering his crotch isn’t going to fool anyone. He refuses to touch himself; he’s a counter-point to this exhibitionist’s utterly shameless display. He’s aching to take himself in hand. On the last circuit around the gallery he nearly stopped in the loo, but there were things that just _weren’t done_. Art gallery loo wanking was pretty much the top of Arthur’s social _faux-pas_ list.

The man’s mostly playing now; his dick’s still soft and floppy from earlier. His loose fist’s working the shaft like Arthur does on a lonely Friday night when he hasn’t decided yet if he wants to wank.

He’s watching something on the ceiling as he strokes himself. Arthur figures it’s porn playing in some big screen TV Morgana installed just for him. Whatever it is, it’s working, because there’s a tight squeeze, and the man’s starting to tug with a bit more purpose. Heat prickles at Arthur’s nape, his hair curling wetly at his ear.

The man’s free hand dips lower; Arthur can’t see but knows the angle well enough to imagine the tip of a finger pushing at his entrance. Arthur squirms, pressing the crumpled program against his throbbing dick.

The area around him is silent. Everyone’s mesmerised by the long, thick cock in the man’s fist, the play of his muscles as he strains closer and closer. Arthur’s breathing has gone ragged and he needs to walk away now if he’s going to save face, but his feet won’t move.

Morgana appears at his elbow and he clenches his teeth in a mix of humiliation and annoyance.

“You have a fan,” she says and hands him a note.

It’s a name and number. He looks to Morgana, a question on his lips, and she points up before he can even get the words out. Arthur cranes his neck and sees the black circle and the tell-tale red light of a recording camera in the rafters over his head.

In the next room, the bloke’s pumping his cock in a frantic, stuttering rhythm; his eyes are wide, staring at the ceiling. Arthur’s balls tighten. He knows exactly _who_ this bloke’s wanking to. Arthur’s losing control in this crowded exhibit with this man watching him.

“Are you going to come in your pants for him, Arthur?” Morgana whispers. “It’ll get him off, I bet.”

He shudders at the thought, bracing himself on the pillar, helpless to stop the orgasm crashing over him. His gut twists, mortified by Morgana’s throaty laugh. He watches the bloke behind the glass arch off the bed and coat his fingers.

* * *

**50**

Warnings: Scratching/painplay, consent/power dynamic issues, Camelot taken over by Morgana, hints at infidelity/jealousy  
Image(s) used: 02

  
**To Be Useful**  


'Just the nobles and the knights, but I want guards on every door.' Morgana's orders are crisp and clear, and as her men leap to obey, Agravaine looks askance at the kneeling residents of Camelot and asks,

'And the servants, milady?'

Morgana waves a hand dismissively. 'Let them be about their business. Our men have better things to do than care for Pendragon usurpers.'

And so when Merlin, feigning humility and a servant's proper manner, goes to Arthur's door with stale bread and water, the guards let him pass. Inside, Arthur seals a finger to his lips and takes hold of Merlin by his hips, kissing him hungrily. 

Merlin drops the food, and soon after drops his trousers, and soon after _that_ drops his silence, keening as Arthur moulds Merlin's hands to the bedpost and then proceeds to open Merlin up with his fingers in a carnal mockery of a whipping, Merlin twisting between his hands held over his head and the pads of Arthur's fingers dragging slickness inside him. 

And when Arthur pushes his cock in, too big for the stretching Merlin's had, too hot to bear, too much of what Merlin wants and just enough to sate him, he writes red marks with his fingernails down the paleness of Merlin's shoulders. Merlin claws at the bedpost just as Arthur claws at him, but Arthur's deliberate, makes marks one, two, three, four, five in a row, then moves across, adds more, like a pattern or a - Merlin realises, a map, a _plan_.

Arthur's tongue is wet and soothing when he's done with cartography; he laps over the scratches and wraps his hand around Merlin's cock, braces himself on the bedpost with his other arm so that Merlin isn't taking all their weight anymore, and he's kind now, gives Merlin what he wants - the slickness of his hand, the fullness of being fucked, consuming and safe. 

Merlin spends on the foot of Arthur's bed, his shoulders on fire, his legs shaking, and Arthur murmurs in his ear, 'You have to go to Gwaine, Merlin? Go. Go to Gwaine. He knows what to do.'

'He'll fuck me,' Merlin says, with Arthur still pushing into him over and over, seeking his own release. He's supposed to be a bedwarmer. There are listeners at the door, and there will be listeners at Gwaine's door too. They have to make a show of it, be convincing.

Arthur shoves in harder as he says it, and Merlin feels the possessiveness in his hold now, but even Arthur has to make sacrifices if they want to win Camelot back. And he knows Merlin wants this. They've talked of it before, although not not like this.

'You're a bedwarmer,' Arthur says bitterly, and if he bites Merlin's neck as he comes exactly where it'll be visible to everyone, what of it? 

Merlin, still dripping down his leg, treasures the sting of the bite, like he'd treasure anything meant just for him. He pads through the halls of Camelot and tries to remind himself why he's doing this, what's at stake, that this isn't just his fantasy.

'Your bedwarmer,' says the guard, leering, to Gwaine as he shoves Merlin through the door. 

Gwaine's face is shocked, but he realises there's more to it almost immediately.

'I don't have to -' he whispers when Merlin strips for him, but Merlin's hard again already, because of what he's about to do, what he wants, what Arthur sent him here to do, what he's _allowed_ to do, to have, just this once. 

'Please,' says Merlin, and turns around. 

Gwaine's rough hands smooth over Merlin's shoulders, counting marks, as he slides his cock into Merlin's wet, dripping arse. He's trying to be gentle. 

But Merlin is a map, a thing to be useful. A thing to be used. And he comes with Gwaine reading him, with Arthur's come and Gwaine's mingling inside him and running out, too full to hold it all. 

'You're a sight,' Gwaine murmurs, braced over Merlin lying face down in the furs and quilts of his bed. 'I always - but I never wanted this to be how we -'

'I'm a bedwarmer tonight,' says Merlin hoarsely, willing Gwaine to understand.


	3. Group C (warnings)

**51**

Image(s) used: #09

**Frilly Round The Edges**

Arthur's well past bladdered, well past clinging to walls and seeing things in dimensions no one's quite discovered yet. Well past the music on the system too. Well past all of it, Gwen and the covert little kisses in the dark alcoves and the shush shush of keeping their affair secret while everyone else was practically making out on the dancefloor.

He was already hard when he walked in, harder when he inched along the side of the bar because Gwen and her chaste do-no-wrong left him chubbed up in his trousers and looking for more while she'd pushed his hand away and told him to shove it. Politely, of course, always polite and still whispering how much she loved him.

He'd not meant to stumble in, hadn't meant to leave her standing there swaying along to the music and waiting for him to come back with something frilly for her.

He'd not meant any of it, but now he couldn't look away in the club next door. Hard in too tight trousers and the rest of the world way too far outside the door, he stood and stared and stared some more, until someone jostled him hard, shoulder into his back making him swivel around, fist at the ready to smash into a too pretty face on a bloke. The bloke shrank away, confused.

A hand curled around the nape of his neck, threaded into his hair, pulling, and turned him away. 

"No need for that," a voice said, breath hot and damp against his ear.

Arthur pushed against the touch but the fingers tightened on the nape of his neck and drew him away: away from the bar and the dancefloor, into the darker alcoves and corners of the club, where the music was a steady low thump in the floor and the walls and less tone than noise.

When Arthur turned around to catch his first glimpse of who the hand belonged to, smoke curled up his chest, to his face, and caught in the strands of hair hanging in front of his eyes. 

He'd seen the bloke around, at his father's do's, the little parties and get-togethers of the wannabe-influentials, the future movers and shakers. 

"Fancy meeting you," the bloke said, and added, "Gwaine," for a name as if that meant more to Arthur than the swishy hair and the lean against the wall that pushed Gwaine's crotch out towards Arthur's body. "Hm, liking it aren't you?"

Arthur muttered something about Gwen next door and the stumble to the loos, or for more beer, ending with him walking out of one club and into another, but Gwaine just exhaled past the side of Arthur's face and pulled him in closer to Gwaine's (naked) chest. 

"Shh," Gwaine whispered into Arthur's ear, voice ripe with smoke, "shhh." 

He reeked of sweat (good, that), so different to Gwen that Arthur didn't think to question all the other blokes in the club, the lack of shirts and the prominence of crotches and hands in the back of jeans. He didn't think to question anything, only (foolishly) chased the smoke from Gwaine's cigarette with his lips until Gwaine's hand at the back of Arthur's neck pushed him down.

Kneecaps to floor and lips to jeans-covered crotch registered next, then the sharp edges of the zipper against Arthur's chin, and tasting Gwaine, thinking Gwen, brain too lazy to catch up with the pussy on his tongue being a cock down his throat.

Arthur had seen Gwaine at his father's, watched him talk smart, talk bullshit.

"Good, that," Gwaine said above him, talking smart and talking bullshit, still guiding Arthur along as if he was driving Uther's investment to tripled profits, with more experience than his MBA and his pseudo-smart talk let on.

Gwaine sucked on his cigarette in-between, smoke blowing into Arthur's face and Arthur soaked it up with the scent of his sweat and the platitudes and the come. "I'll keep you here, won't let you go back over. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

And maybe Gwaine had been watching him as much as he'd been watching Gwaine at his father's parties, crotch prominent in suit trousers, tie pointing towards the target. Maybe. 

"Can't," Arthur thought he said around the cock and over the sound of the bass. Can't because "Gwen", because "things", but with the cock in his mouth he couldn't bring the words out.

He blinked upwards, eyes tearing up, until he closed them. Better that way.

* * *

**52**

Image(s) used: 12

Arthur normally takes these stairs three at a time, but not tonight. He’s dreading going up to the studio, but goddamn it, he’s never backed away from anything in his life. He’s not about to start now. Especially not now.

From above, _Rage Against the Machine_ pounds through the double brick, and Arthur feels it inside his chest like a punch to the lungs; Merlin only plays that shit when he’s livid.

Climbing up to the mezzanine takes too long and not long enough, and he wants to burst through the door and sneak in unnoticed, just to gauge how bad things are.

The volume from inside indicates DEFCON 2, one step away from open war. If Merlin’s rage was directed at Arthur, he’d be expecting to have his eyeballs gouged out with a rusty spoon and mailed to his mother in time for Christmas. Merlin is an easy-going person, open and mild. But when he loses his shit, it’s Godzilla style.

Arthur sets his jaw and slides the door open, the wall of noise slapping him in the face.

Inside, it’s carnage. Arthur’s stomach crawls into his throat. “Fucking hell,” he groans, unheard over the eardrum annihilation. Merlin’s beautiful, colourful canvases lie strewn all over the place like trees uprooted by a typhoon, as though Merlin punted them across the warehouse, not giving a shit where they land. They’re scattered everywhere, turned into projectiles by Merlin’s rage.

Arthur’s eyes slide over the debris, mind flipping through ways to torture and maim arsehole art critics.

Movement against the far wall attracts his attention and he stops in his tracks, noting several important elements.

Merlin is painting.

Directly onto the wall.

In black.

He’s completely starkers.

Arthur assesses silently. Merlin’s naked body stretches like a tightly coiled spring as he throws himself around, following the lead of his angry brush. He’s sinew and bone, ridges and angles, but there’s power in his strong shoulders and back, and beauty in the tensile harmony of it all.

Broad, vicious strokes drip paint everywhere, all over the floor and all over Merlin, but it’s the deliberate brush strokes all over his body which have all of Arthur’s attention; stripes of black rage adorn wiry limbs and narrow hips, dragged carelessly across his skin.

Stepping carefully around the canvases, Arthur nears, thinking himself unnoticed. He has no time to react when Merlin spins, splattering a rough brush across Arthur’s chest, dividing him in two with a thick, black median.

Arthur feels Merlin’s savage eyes deep and low in his belly and doesn’t back down. He shows Merlin his teeth instead.

He seizes Merlin’s wrist in his large hand and flicks it to slap the paintbrush hard on his own cheek. It’s cold and startling, and he loves it. His mouth falls open as he drags black paint over his chin, his throat, his expensive shirt.

Merlin’s dark hawk’s eyes track each flicker of emotion like prey. He grasps a handful of Arthur’s shirt, then forces his hand between buttons to worry a tight nipple between dirty fingers. It’s like holding a lit match to Arthur’s tinder.

He takes Merlin’s mouth the way he takes everything he wants, thoroughly, brutally, vaguely amazed at how fast--how _always_ \--Merlin makes him flare, and catch, and burn.

Within moments, they’re on an upturned canvas on the floor, smearing each other with fistfuls of black, Arthur’s shirt torn open and flapping, breath ragged in the cold. The acrylic is an acrid icepick through his nose but his mind is hot and frenzied, full of Merlin’s wild eyes, black hands and white stomach, the rigid insistence of his cock against the juncture of Arthur’s thigh.

Sucking bitter paint from Merlin’s nipple, Arthur slides his solid body between Merlin’s legs, pinning him down, filthy fingers tracing the cleft of his arse, painting Merlin slippery black inside and out to match his mood.

He works his big fingers the way Merlin likes, with the edge of hysteria making it raw and primal. Merlin pants through his nose and grunts through gritted teeth until Arthur’s thick cock, glistening black with paint, splits him open. Arthur drives himself in and in and _in_ , and _fuck_ , it’s _tight_ , _hot_ and _sweet Jesus_ , until there’s nothing in Merlin’s eyes but Arthur's reflection, and nothing on Arthur’s mind except fucking the rage out of him, easing down the snarling, black fury.

 _I’ve got you_ , Arthur thinks, hips deliberate and rough, just so. _I’m here. I’ve got you._

* * *

**53**

Image(s) used: Image # 6

Morgana has a morning routine. She brushes her hair and her teeth, washes her face over her pedestal sink. She sits on a cushioned stool to slip on her stockings, making certain to keep the seam straight, then draws on her panty girdle and closes her brassiere. After that, she chooses her dress and shoes. 

Today she wears periwinkle, a blue so delicate it almost blends in with the wallpaper. Modest black pumps complete the ensemble, but she isn’t finished until she pinks her lips and cheeks, tying her hair back with a light blue ribbon.

+

“Darling, the Penns just rang. Are we available for dinner tomorrow evening?” Morgana raps on the door of Merlin’s study, hoping not to startle him. Bent over his desk, muttering to himself, he doesn’t appear to have heard her at all. “Merlin?” she says. He jerks, his soldering iron tumbling from his hand only to freeze an inch from the floor. He glances around, sheepish. 

“Sorry,” he says, iron floating back to his palm. “I know how you hate singe marks on the carpet.” 

Morgana feels her brow dip, but she smiles. “Dinner with the Penns tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes,” Merlin says, waving her away. “That’s fine, we’ll have them over here, shall we?” 

Morgana entertains the ungracious impulse to protest — they’d hosted last time, after all — but Merlin has already turned back to his work.

+

Later in the evening, Merlin sets down his drink and book to smile at her. “My lovely bell.”

Morgana smiles back from the kitchen door, stripping off her dishwashing gloves. When he beckons she perches on the arm of his chair, accepting a small kiss, and another. He takes her hand when she begins to unbutton his shirt. “Let’s go to bed?” 

Morgana enjoys him on top of her, inside her — she does. She likes his body and his sweetness and the pinch of his eyes when he spends. 

It’s a shame she so often goes to sleep frustrated.

+

“Morgana, how are you?” Gwen embraces her in the hall while Arthur and Merlin shake hands. Morgana had opted for her rose dress and pink ribbon tonight. Gwen looks lovely in a startling goldenrod number with cap sleeves. 

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Arthur says, noticing Morgana’s admiration. Gwen rolls her eyes but Merlin agrees, and Morgana proclaims her gorgeous, far too good for her brother. 

After dinner, in the sitting room, Gwen asks after her magic. 

“It’s...fine,” Morgana says, smoothing her dress. 

“You haven’t used it, have you?” 

“Merlin doesn’t approve. He worries.” 

“Arthur didn’t approve of my tinkering at first, either.” 

“What did you do?” Morgana asks.

Gwen looks at her like she doesn’t quite understand the question. “I did it anyway.” 

It takes a moment, but then, _oh_. 

What a novel thought.

+

The routine starts the same. Hair, teeth, face. Stockings and brassiere. Then Morgana pauses. 

She chooses a thin girdle that lets her attach her garters, but forgoes the panties. After that it’s the emerald dress, the red pumps. 

Her lipstick is crimson. She leaves her cheeks pale, her hair loose. She wraps a handful of ribbons around her palm.

+

Merlin jumps when Morgana runs her fingers through his hair. “Darling?” 

“Shh.” Morgana leans down and kisses him. After a long moment he tries to gently push her away. So she bites his lip, startling him into opening his mouth. He tastes warm and floral, like his favorite tea. 

“Morgana, what?” Merlin gasps when she finally pulls back. She shows him the rainbow stack of ribbons in her hand, and he looks even more confused until they leap to his arms, coiling around his wrists, tugging him out of his chair and onto his desk. “Morgana!” he yelps when she tugs open his trouser placket. 

She uses her mouth, because he’s never let her before. It makes him stiffen so fast she resolves to finish him like that one day, just to see what it’s like. Not tonight. 

Tonight she climbs over his hips and sits on his prick. The genuine _shock_ on his face makes her laugh. The only hiccup happens after about five minutes of hard riding: when he shouts, arching beneath her. She’d come close — just not that close.

So she sits in his chair, ties his arms to its legs with her ribbons, and keeps his head under her skirt until he finishes her with his tongue. Twice.

+

“How are things?” Gwen asks over the phone. Morgana smiles to herself, hair coiling about her shoulders.

“As they should be.”

* * *

**54**

Warnings: A hint of fantasized D/s themes.  
Image(s) used: Image 3

Waiting

The weather on the Isle was as temperate as ever.

No need for food, no need for water. Dead, stagnant, and dull.

The cushion of grass was soft under his bare body and gentle waves lapped soothingly at the shore, it mocked his restlessness with its serenity. He was eager for something, anything, to happen. It just **had** to. The discontent rose almost daily now and so he kept half an eye on the horizon in hopes of discovering exactly what it was he was supposed to be waiting for. That’s what he was doing, waiting.

Another surge of irritation washed over him and with it came the vivid image of a man, always the same man. Arthur didn’t know him but he always seemed to appear at these times. Dark hair, pale skin, and bright flashing eyes. He felt his thighs flex in response to the imagery and abruptly he was angry that he didn’t know the man’s name. Only that he was infuriating and his mouth, _his **mouth**_... it never fucking closed, not unless it was full.

Some long forgotten instinct made him tense at that thought, made him pause.

It’s inappropriate.

It’s “ _not done_ ”.

Yes, worse than touching yourself one simply just _does not_ picture the pale slopes and angles of a man’s body with pleasure. One _must not_ shiver at the thought of that leanly muscled form flexing helplessly under the weight of your body as you force it carefully, slickly, open.

He did though, always. It was the only thing that made him feel alive in this godforsaken paradise. He had no clue how he came to be here or why, only that he could never seem to leave.

As always abstract and fragmented memory faded quickly when faced with the painfully real sensation of damp skin and rough calluses against his rigid length. Instinctively his hand had already begun to move roughly over the wet tip and he panted and watched as it pulsed and twitched in response to his anxious, needy pleasure. He bit his fist to cut off a too loud groan.

The things he imagined, that he **_wanted_** , they were abominable.

He’d have him on his knees, bent forward and pinned in place with Arthur’s hand against the back of his neck. The sharp cut of the man’s hip would be tightly gripped in the other to hold him steady, hold him still, as Arthur pistoned forward in a relentless rhythm. The sloppy wet sound of his thrusts were loud in his mind, almost too filthy to be imagined. Yet it must be, pure fancy, because it wouldn’t actually be like that, couldn’t possibly be that-- _good_.

Could it?

Already he was sweating and his heels dug grooves into the ground with every brutal thrust into his hand, into the sweet wet suck of phantom flesh. It was madness how clear the vision was. Arthur could _hear_ him. Deep, guttural groans half muffled by the bedding and soft panting breaths. Even the dark, ominous creak of wood was crisply audible and it just made him grasp harder, pull faster, at his aching red cock until sharp throb of release was just within reach.

Then, inevitably, the vision left. It faded into the depths of his broken memory just as suddenly as it had appeared and left him splayed out on the beach, hot and wanting for something that didn’t exist anywhere in the crumbling ruins or green depths of the island. Angrily he forced himself to an unfulfilling peak and lay there gasping in frustration.

Then, as if summoned by the strength of his dissatisfaction, a dark shape in the water caught his eye. He stood to approach the strange vessel, the likes of which he’d never seen, floating in invitation by the rocks. Whoever the man was Arthur knew only two things, he bruised beautifully and he needed him with a surprising desperation.

Arthur was resolved, he was **done** waiting.

* * *

**55**

Image(s) used: 09

Arthur went still when he came, silent and frozen over Merlin. Every line of his body strained in perfect tension, every bit of flesh and bone and thought focused only on his orgasm. The only movement between them was the sluggish spurt of come into Merlin's arse and the drop of sweat rolling down Arthur's nose.

Merlin held just as still to better concentrate on Arthur's finish. He loved Arthur's orgasms, especially when he'd already had at least one of his own.

Finally, Arthur fell in a heap at Merlin's side. "Unh. So hot."

"Yeah, it was." Merlin stretched, working out the bits that had gone stiff and sore.

"I mean the temperature in this room, you insatiable tart."

Merlin laughed. His skin prickled with heat and sweat, but unlike Arthur, he loved the discomfort of it. Above him, the ceiling fan spun with a gentle whum-whum-whum, stirring the warm air just enough to ease their breathing.

He slapped the back of his hand on Arthur's chest, palm up. His fingers bent repeatedly in a gesture mistakable for a kung-fu challenge. Arthur interpreted it correctly and sighed.

"Filthy habit," he said.

Merlin twitched his fingers again until Arthur reached over to the night table for the pack of fags Merlin had dropped there before they'd gotten into bed. He slapped it into Merlin's hand. "There. Don't even think about kissing me after that."

He hummed and left his hand on Arthur's chest while his fingers wiggled a cigarette out of the packet. "All right. I'll wait until you kiss me."

"Ha."

Merlin let the rest of the pack tumble from his fingers down to the bed on the other side of Arthur's body. He waved the cigarette in the air over Arthur.

"I understand how it would confuse you, Merlin, but I'm not your bloody servant. Quite the contrary, if you recall."

"Yes, and I'm your dirty little secret. Doesn't that earn me any privileges, my lord?" 

He put the cigarette between his lips. It hung there until he heard a click and a snap. Arthur's family crest came into blurred view, embossed in sterling on the lighter Arthur still carried on him months after he'd quit.

Merlin hummed his thanks as his ciggie ignited. He steadied it between his fingers and took a long, blissful drag.

Whoever had come up with the idea of cigarettes after sex had really been onto something, he thought. The warm rush of smoke in his lungs gentled his dancing nerves after the pounding stimulation of getting fucked.

"You think because you're so young that it's all right. But just wait until you try to quit later."

Another, harder drag made his throat sting. He felt hot inside and out now. A slow prickle ran through his body on both sides of his skin.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to get hard again, so he reached down between his legs and started massaging himself. Gentle squeezes, just getting the blood going.

"You've got to be kidding."

Yep, it was stirring nicely now, sore but pleased at the attention. He'd have to push it a little, though. Letting the cigarette dangle from the corner of his mouth, he brought both hands between his legs and started working himself up. Just one more orgasm and he could nap the rest of the afternoon away.

"I fucked the daylights out of you. I fucked you like an Olympic fucking champion."

Merlin tilted his head back and smiled as much as he could without losing his ciggie. Arthur's fucking had been good and hard and deeply satisfying. In fact, the more Merlin thought about how deeply Arthur had satisfied him, the bigger his cock grew.

His body started to undulate when he was fully erect, and that was when Arthur finally groaned and rolled back on top of him. Merlin opened his eyes and took one last deep drag off his cigarette before Arthur took it out of his mouth and set it aside.

He let smoke burn in his lungs until Arthur's lips nudged his mouth open. Then he let it gust into Arthur's mouth and felt Arthur's chest surge as Arthur drew every last wisp from him. 

Arthur lifted his head and closed his eyes, groaning as he exhaled and sent the last of the smoke swirling into the afternoon sunlight. When he rocked between Merlin's thighs, he was already half hard. 

Merlin wrapped his legs around Arthur's waist and reached for the cigarette again.

* * *

**56**

Warnings: mild exhibitionism  
Image(s) used: #12

**Paint It Merthur**

“ _Mer_ lin. Stop squirming. You’re messing it up.”

Merlin giggled as the bristles of the thick paintbrush slid across his chest. “I can’t help it. Tickles.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and continued brushing wide black lines over his boyfriend’s body. He knew Merlin had only agreed to this once he’d learned what he’d actually have to do. He’d always been a bloody exhibitionist at heart. 

With one last swipe across Merlin’s thigh—and ignoring the little wiggle of hips that followed—Arthur sat back and took in his work. Finding it satisfactory he hopped up and grabbed his camera from its place on the table and gestured his hand at Merlin.

“On your back for the first few I think. No, arm out to your side. Knee up.”

“Like this?” Merlin lifted one knee to hide his naked groin and stretched out his arm toward Arthur. Arthur nodded absently, already sucked into the world behind his lens. Soon the room was silent but for their breathing and the click of the shutter.

Merlin took in a deep breath, trying to keep calm. He’d known how Arthur could always get this intense look when he worked, but having it directed at him like that. It was intoxicating. By the time Arthur made him move into another pose he was already half hard. His leg had hid it earlier but now on his knees in front of Arthur there was no hiding it. He couldn’t deny the little thrill that shot up his spine as he watched Arthur look on hungrily at his growing erection. 

He smirked at little as Arthur’s face morphed determinedly into a glare. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.

“Take care of that would you. This isn’t porn.”

Merlin hummed thoughtfully, trying to think of things to will his dick down. It was rather difficult with his boyfriend _right there_. “You know, this could be considered soft porn in some circles.” 

Arthur gave him a withering look and retreated behind his camera again. “Though I’m sure you would love to, we are not doing porn of any kind. Will you please cover yourself already? I don’t want any bit of your cock to end up in these pictures.”

“Aw, not even a little bit?” Merlin smiled and shimmied his hips from side to side. He still half hard member shifted ridiculously with his movements, making Arthur break his air of _professionalism_ with a laugh. 

“Merlin. Seriously. Come on.”

“Come on what? You’re way over there,” But he grinned and cupped his hand over his groin anyway. He lifted his other arm up to tangle a hand in his hair. Giving Arthur his most over-the-top sultry look he said, “Are you going to paint me like one of your French girls, Arthur?”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin burst out laughing. “Sorry, sorry. Shutting up now.”

Arthur widened his eyes in annoyance. Whose idea had this been again? Oh, yeah. His own. Cursing himself for thinking he could work with Merlin’s ridiculousness, Arthur went back to lining up his shots. But of course, even in self induced quiet, Merlin could not keep his mouth shut for long. Oddly it was one of the things Arthur loved about him.

“Can we fuck now?”

“We’ve only done a few shots.”

“But we haven’t had sex in a week Arthur. _A week!_ ” The way Merlin whined about it, it was something unspeakable. Something unheard of. How in the universe could this happen!? Then he followed it up with a pout that he knew— _knew_ , damn it—would work every time with Arthur.

“Please?”

Arthur huffed a laugh and set aside his camera. He crawled across the floor to his grinning, painted boyfriend, pulling off his shirt as he went. He pulled up close to Merlin and dragged a hand down his chest, smearing the paint.

“I’m gonna get all covered in paint too.”

Merlin hummed before he wrapped an arm around Arthur’s neck, pulling the larger man to settle between his thighs. “Guess we’ll just have to take a shower after, then.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Arthur trailed off as he slid a hand down Merlin’s thigh to the wet, stretched entrance of his boyfriend. He raised an eyebrow at him. Merlin raised his in return. 

“A _week_ Arthur. I had to get by with only our _toys_. For a _week_.”

* * *

**57**

Image(s) used: 09 

The best things about days off, Gwaine thought, was the way he was home when Merlin got back from work. It was quite nice, actually. Brilliant, even, on days like this when the sky had been grey all day, finally giving in to rain some time around noon, and Merlin would need cheering up when he finally got home, wet and miserable, because of course he had left his umbrella by the door.

Gwaine was very good at cheering Merlin up. It was his super power, really.

"Good thing," Merlin said, his voice coming from somewhere near the front door, "is that I've learned never to let anyone I might be bringing with me in without checking what you're up to first."

"Mmm, yeah, _up_ to," Gwaine muttered from the corner of his mouth, his lips mostly occupied by the cigarette between them. He kept his eyes shut and did another languid stroke down the length of his cock.

"Nudge nudge, wink wink," Merlin said and Gwaine could hear him walking closer, dropping his jacket on the floor, the soft sound followed with a thud from his bag. "Well, at least you opened the window to let the rain in."

"To let the smoke out, you mean," Gwaine said. He kept his eyes shut, feeling the cold wind against his face and Merlin's gaze on his body. "I think I feel a draft," he said when Merlin grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth. "Come on, warm me up." He could feel a puff of warm breath over his cheek when Merlin laughed before dipping down and kissing the side of his neck.

"You're on display," Merlin said, his lips moving against Gwaine's skin. "I bet there's some old lady in the building next to us, with a pair of binoculars."

"I like to think this is my small way of contributing to the neighbourhood," Gwaine said. 

"With porn," Merlin said.

"Well, what have _you_ done for your neighbours lately? You're just all about _you_ , aren't you? Never a thought to your fellow human beings."

Merlin kissed his shoulder, his hand sliding over Gwaine's chest, down over his belly until Gwaine could feel Merlin's fingers tugging at the coarse hairs above his cock. He pushed his hips towards the touch a little.

"Do you have any suggestions how I should remedy the situation?" Merlin asked, and Gwaine could hear the laughter in his voice.

"Yes, that's easy. Suck my cock," he answered cheerfully. "Right now. I misjudged the time you came home and I've been hard for _ages_ already."

"Ages?" Merlin asked and Gwaine opened his eyes just in time to see Merlin kneel down between his legs.

"At least ten minutes. Also, where did you put my cigarette?"

Merlin placed a kiss on Gwaine's belly, his chest rubbing against his cock. "Lung cancer. Lung cancer and hairy palms, Gwaine. That's your destiny," he said, before licking a wet stripe along Gwaine's cock, making it very hard for Gwaine to argue.

"Not while you're here to rescue me," he managed to get out before Merlin's thumb on the tip of his penis made him give up talking.

"Well, _yeah_ ," Merlin said and took Gwaine all the way into his mouth.

* * *

**58**

Warnings: Some sexual acrobatics that become woefully vanilla  
Image(s) used: #5

"What, you do not think I can do it?" Morgana smirked as Gwen stroked her naked thigh. They had ridden away from the castle to enjoy one another's company without the constant watch that seemed to always be around Gwen's mistress. Stretched out on the rug Gwen had brought the two women disrobed and enjoyed one another. 

"I did not say you could not, I said that you should not." Gwen smiled. 

"I used to climb trees all the time when I was younger." She stated. 

"Yes, and I'm sure you climbed higher than Arthur." she countered.

"How did you guess?" Morgana smiled and climbed the tree nude. Hanging down she laughed at Gwen. "See?"

"I see you have scratches." Gwen replied, getting up and walking over to the other woman. "Here and here." She said, kissing the parts of Morgana's legs that had small cuts on them from the tree bark. Morgana hung onto the limb, as she didn't wish to fall. 

"You are taking advantage!" She laughed, and readjusted her grip on the branch.

"You put yourself there." Gwen countered, trailing her fingers up Morgana's legs to her vagina, carefully spreading the folds and placing a gentle kiss on her clit. The shock almost made her lose her grip, when Gwen placed her other hand over Morgana's. "No, you are going to stay there." and continued to tease her gently with her tongue. It was fun to watch Morgana squirm. Alone they could let down the act of lady and servant and just be themselves. 

"I should climb higher." 

"You should stay where you are." Now was Gwen's turn to smirk and gently nipped her on her inner thigh. Stopping, she slowly moved her kisses down Morgana's belly and breasts until she was kneeling face to face with the woman. "How about you come down now?" She asked.

Morgana looked thoughtful for a moment then released her grip. Gwen helped her down and led her back to the rug. "You look a mess." She said, leaning over her and settled on top of her. Darker skin to lighter, breast to breast. 

"Say I fell off my horse." Morgana teased.

"And who would believe that?" She repled, letting her hand slip back down to where Morgana was warm, wet, and open only for her. Inserting her fingers she made Morgana gasp and press herder into Gwen's touch. "I should punish you for being a spoiled princess today."

"Maybe I like being punished?" Morgana said, kissing Gwen gently on the side of her neck and trailing her finger over a hard nipple.

"Oh no, you are not getting your way out of this." Gwen replied, pulling her fingers away from Morgana. "It would be more of a punishment if I leave you wanting."

"You always leave me wanting." She replied honestly. "Please?" she asked, carefully pulling on Gwen's hair and spreading her legs slightly to invite the other woman closer.

"Of course, My Lady." Gwen answered and placed her tongue back over the hard nub to pleasure her mistress.

* * *

**59**

Image(s) used: #12 

When Merlin turns to Arthur, the gold in his eyes is swirling away into blue, but the light of the fading fire catches there anyway. As always now, Arthur is awed and fascinated by it.

“Now we wait,” Merlin says in the language Arthur understands, overlaying the spell on the night air he did not.

“For what?” Arthur knows the ritual isn’t yet complete.

“The sun.” 

They press together on the bedroll for warmth, the flames dying as heat is lost to the dark. Merlin tells Arthur not to worry, they’re tucked away safe in a very special grove, but Arthur doesn’t sleep. He keeps watch while Merlin rests.

In the dim grey of morning, Merlin stirs. He’s quiet, gathering what he needs and setting up beside the cooled, charred logs. Merlin’s language fills the still air, quiet and reverent, his eyes flashing. 

It’s always a kick to Arthur’s gut seeing Merlin like this, to _know_ this is truly him. Strong, powerful, a respect for magic woven in every breath. Arthur listens to learn.

Merlin removes all his clothing. In the growing light, he is naked amongst the trees, gorgeous pale skin and long lines, kneeling in front of a long extinguished fire that’s taken on the quality of an alter. 

“Before the Gods and my King,” Merlin says, bowing his head at Arthur, “I am yours. Always.”

He’s breathtakingly beautiful, and Arthur is honoured. He bows his head in return. To not disturb, his prayer for Merlin is silent but familiar on his mind.

Merlin picks up one of the logs, dipping the end in the small bowl of water. He uses it to paint his body, the wet soot smearing over his chest, arms and thighs, thick lines mixed with errant smudges. Merlin speaks more magic, loud and strong. The grey ash starts to shimmer, a rippling gold that matches his eyes trailing all over him. With a final burst, the lines all shine bright, then fade to sharp black.

Arthur swallows hard, unblinking. The magic on the air makes the hair on his arms stand up. Warmth and want for Merlin pools in his belly, but now is not the time.

“It is done,” Merlin announces. “Let’s leave this place.”

He dresses, loose clothes over dirty marks. As much as he wants to, Arthur can tell not to question or push anything that moment. He can wait. They walk, subdued, until it’s past mid-day. Arthur’s led them to a stream.

“Perhaps you should clean up.”

“I should.” Merlin strips down for a second time that day and shoots Arthur a playful look. “Coming?”

There he is, the approachable Merlin that Arthur adores even more than the powerful one. Arthur’s quick to join him in the cool stream. Scooping up water, they rid Merlin of the soot. Arthur rubs his wet hands over as much of Merlin’s skin as possible, dirty or not. Meandering rivulets trail over his skin in ashy paths until it’s all gone, washed away in the gentle current. When Arthur continues to touch, Merlin’s breath starts to hitch and he presses closer.

After Arthur kisses Merlin, deep and exploring, Merlin whispers against his lips, desperate. “Arthur, _please_.” 

Under the surface, Arthur takes Merlin’s cock in hand. In slow, languid pulls, Arthur brings him to full hardness, causing Merlin to shiver beneath his caresses. Merlin groans, and peppers Arthur’s mouth with fast kisses. 

Merlin strokes Arthur’s cock too. Earlier, Arthur hadn’t allowed himself to really think about it, the timing too inappropriate, but it’s been there since the morning, since the magic, a dull thrum in the back of his mind and between his legs. Wet skin and deep kisses have only urged it on.

They stroke each other in a teasing tandem, and it’s Merlin who comes first with a muffled cry, face pressed against Arthur’s neck. His body shudders against Arthur’s. He heaves for breath, but his strong strokes don’t falter until Arthur comes, Merlin’s name on his lips released into the afternoon.

“Will it work?” Arthur asks of the ritual, his forehead against Merlin’s as he tries to catch his breath. The cool water swirls around them, washing them both clean again.

“Yes,” Merlin answers softly. “Thank you for being there.”

Arthur answers with a kiss. Anything to keep Merlin safe.

When they’re back on the bank, Merlin says, “You should rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Arthur trusts him and so he does. He dreams of soot and water and everlasting kisses.

* * *

**60**

Image(s) used: 04

Morgana pulled herself out of bed, collecting her cigarettes and lighter on the way. She perched on the window sill, and brought one knee up to her chest. She lit up, and took the first wonderful drag. As she turned her head to blow the smoke out of the window, she saw Leon get up.

She watching Leon walk toward the window, dropping to kneel in front of her. 

Leon looked at her – she was aware that she hadn’t cleaned up after their session in the bed, she was still slick with come and her fluids. It was slightly uncomfortable but she was lazy and, well, now it looked like Leon was going to help her out. Leon loved eating her out, she knew, he’d happily do it whenever and wherever she asked. 

His stubble scratched the inside of her thighs as he shuffled closer. Morgana shifted, making herself more comfortable. 

Leon leaned forward and tongued her gently. Morgana took a deep breath in. She steeled herself and carried on smoking, turning her head again to direct the smoke vaguely out of the window. She was going to finish this cigarette and Leon would deal with it. 

She looked down at the dirty blonde head in between her legs. He moaned as his tongue dipped inside her, licking his come out of her. 

_Filthy boy_ she thought, stretching into the warm tingling feeling. She gasped as he flicked at her clit, sucking on the hood gently. She took another drag of her cigarette, savouring the burn.

Warm hands came up to stroke along her thighs. She shivered again, spreading herself wider. She loved Leon’s hands, the way his callouses dragged along her skin. He lifted her leg over his shoulder, and she rubbed her heel down his spine.

She pulled at one arm, directing it to her breasts. Leon looked up at her, face still half buried in her cunt, and pinched her nipple gently. She felt it all the way down to her toes, and slid one hand through his curls, tugging slightly. 

Leon groaned in response and she felt him press a finger deep inside her. She took one last drag on her cigarette before blindly stubbing it out in the ashtray on the side.

She could feel herself getting wetter, hotter, and she ground forward, pushing against Leon’s face. He just took it, pressing back harder. He shoved his fingers in deeper, pressing down just right and, _fuck, that’s it._

She could feel herself tense, she was so close. She arched, head hitting the glass behind her. Leon made a noise, but she dug her heel into his back and he didn’t stop. She had one moment to think _good, so good_ before she came. She felt herself pulse around him before she relaxed all at once, panting. She shuddered as Leon lapped at her, tongue gentle. 

He stood up, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, licking the wetness off his lips. She pulled him into a kiss, still shivery and sensitive. 

“Fuck, I need another cigarette.”

* * *

**61**

Warnings: brief references to canonical death  
Image(s) used: #2

_"You've had your fun, my friend."_

...

 _"I'm Guinevere, but most people call me Gwen?"_

...

 _Pass me that dress, will you Gwen?_

***

Merlin woke, feeling disoriented. The ceiling hung above him, incongruously white and normal.

Normal.

His hands dug into the bedsheets. What had he been dreaming?

***

"Going in early?" his da asked, as Merlin snatched a piece of hot toast and juggled it, blowing on his fingers.

"Yeah." He didn't say, _I couldn't get back to sleep._

His fingers trailed over mum's picture on the way out. She looked the same as ever.

***

Uni was normal. Birds sang, people walked to class laughing, and Merlin dropped his mobile twice. Perfectly normal.

...Until he woke, confused, to find himself in the library, surrounded by too much quiet and a jumble of memories of a different library, books all written by hand.

He went home early.

***

 _"You still up to the same old magic tricks again?"_

Merlin woke suddenly, gasping, tears on his face. "Mum," he said, but the face in his mind was Will's.

***

"I can't believe you texted me at three in the morning," Will complained, but he settled down on the floor by Merlin's bed anyway. "If your da knew I snuck in the window like a kid, he'd have a fit."

"Sorry," Merlin muttered, though he wasn't. Will's body was solid and real beside where he lay, giving off heat and annoyance and sleep breath. It said _I'm alive_ in ways no mere words on a screen could. Merlin reached out across the sheets, fingers brushing the short ends of Will's hair.

"I'll get a new mobile number," Will threatened, but he leaned back and let Merlin card fingers through his hair. Then, quieter, "Nightmare again?"

Merlin didn't answer, but he did lean forward. Will looked at him assessingly for a moment before giving in, twisting and shifting up so their mouths could meet.

The angle was awkward for a moment, but then Will tilted his head a bit further and they clicked into place, lips slip-sliding open. Merlin grabbed onto Will's arms in mute plea, and got a brief grumble against his tongue before Will shoved up and settled on top of him, clothes rucked and wrinkled between them.

"What do you want?" Will asked quietly.

Merlin shook his head, pulling on Will's arms again, and Will gave a little ironic chuckle.

"Clingy bastard." But he wrapped one arm around Merlin anyway, reaching between them to free their cocks from their trousers. "Care to do some of the work this time?"

Merlin shook his head, but he could feel his heartbeat settling, finding the rhythm of Will's hand and Will's pounding pulse. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of Will's neck. Merlin licked at the drop and found it tasted like tears.

Will's hand sped up, squeezed them both at the same time, a little too hard. Merlin gasped and came with a jerk, curling up.

***

"It's been a while since you had a bad night," Will said later, one arm flung across Merlin's belly. "Did something happen?"

Merlin stayed silent for a moment, then reluctantly admitted, "I dreamed."

Will blinked. "About what?"

"I don't remember." It's a lie. Mostly. Merlin doesn't remember what happened, but he remembers how he felt.

"You've always dreamed," Will countered.

The words are hard like stone, painful to spit out. "In my dreams now. I'm. I can." Merlin breathes. "I can move things with my mind. I can make fire. I can fly."

"Lots of people can fly in their dreams."

Merlin shook his head. "Not like this. It's. There's something different."

Will tugs him closer, hooks a chin over his shoulder. 

"I don't want to dream anymore," Merlin admitted, staring up at the white, white ceiling. "It scares me."

***

Gwen put out the candles, then turned away. 

"Good night, my lady," she said from the doorway.

"Good night," Morgana whispered, closing her eyes...

..."Good morning!" Gorlois called from downstairs. "Ready for breakfast?"

Morgana grabbed a fistful of sheets and breathed.

* * *

**62**

Image(s) used: 11

**Shower Shenanigans**

“For the love of bloody fuck!” Arthur shouted through the bathroom door while looking at his watch for the twentieth time. “I have to shower right now, Merlin! I’m going to be late!”

Merlin’s response was watery and amused. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be out in a tick. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Arthur growled and leant against the door jamb. “If you’re not out in two minutes, I’m coming in there and forcibly removing you!” He heard Merlin chuckle and scowled at the door. “I’m _serious_!”

Under normal circumstances, Arthur’s living arrangements with Merlin, Leon, Gwaine, Lance, Percy and Elyan were quite ideal. He got to spend time with all his best mates, always had enough lads around to play a pickup game of footie if needed, and they never ran out of beer.

Unfortunately ‘normal circumstances’ only applied when it wasn’t in reference to Merlin’s shower usage. Why didn’t Arthur share with Percy? Percy was in and out of the shower in under five minutes. Merlin, on the other hand, was a world-record holder for longest showers of all time. Arthur was sure of it.

He glanced at his watch again and pushed off the wall, determined. “That’s it, Merlin!” he called, pulling his sweaty footie kit off over his head and barging into the bathroom. “I’m coming in there now!”

“Oh god, Arthur, no,” Merlin shrieked from the other side of the shower curtain. “I’ll be out in a second. Seriously.”

But it was too late, because Arthur dropped his sweaty shorts and pants to the floor and pulled the curtain open in one quick motion. Merlin - skinny, wet and horrified - was trying to cover himself, one arm wrapped ridiculously across his chest and the other hand cupping his cock.

Arthur smirked and stepped inside. “Quit being a girl, _Mer_ lin,” he drawled, gesturing to the arm covering his chest, and maneuvered his back into the hot spray of water, nudging Merlin out of his way. “It’s not like you have parts I’ve never seen before.”

Merlin scoffed and let his arms drop, quirking his eyebrow. “I don’t like having my shower interrupted, Arthur,” he said quietly, dangerous.

Before Arthur could even fathom what that meant, Merlin wrapped his fingers around his wrist and pulled. Slipping on the wet floor of the shower, Arthur stumbled, ready to crash into Merlin, but instead fell forward when he danced around him effortlessly and slid under the water, a triumphant grin on his face.

“Ha!” Merlin said. “Ha-bloody-ha!”

Shocked, Arthur shouted, “Oi!” and then tried to push Merlin out of the way. From there, it was laughter and good-natured shouting while they try to out-maneuver each other for position under the water.

After one particularly hard yank on Merlin’s bicep, Arthur felt his body stumble forward once more, this time colliding with Merlin. He gasped loudly when their half-hard cocks bumped and slid together deliciously.

White-hot need pooled low in his belly when he saw Merlin’s eyes roll back into his head and a groan tumbled from his lips. Without thinking of the possible consequences, Arthur attacked Merlin’s mouth with his, the kiss filthy and hot, all tongue and teeth. When Merlin opened his mouth, tongue slipping out to curl against Arthur’s, he thought he’d come right then.

With adrenaline and lust pushing him, Arthur wrapped his hand around both of their cocks and started pumping them together. Merlin moaned something unintelligible against his mouth and then tipped his head back. That was an invitation if Arthur’d ever seen one and attached his mouth to the side of his neck, sucking and licking, all while his hand pumped harder and faster.

When Merlin keened, “Oh fuck, Arthur, I’m gonna come,” Arthur could only think _yesyesfuckyes_ and squeezed his fist tighter. They came together in a chorus of _sweetmotheroffuck_ ’s and _ohgodyessssss_ ’s.

Arthur, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against Merlin’s, only had a moment to think that he may have just royally fucked up his relationship with his best mate - even if they had maybe been dancing around their mutual attraction for years - before he felt an entire bucket of ice water fall on their heads. They both screeched like a couple of schoolgirls and heard Gwaine shout,

“‘Bout fucking time, you oblivious bastards! Now keep it down! I can’t hear the footie match!”

* * *

**63**

Image(s) used: 2, 3 & 12

Merlin bent down to test the heat of the water. After a moment he rose and turned around again, eyes fading to blue, to see Arthur pushing his breeches to the ground, his tunic beside him. The paint looked almost silly, now. Especially as Arthur stared out at the horizon, sunlight hitting his skin instead of firelight and shadows.

"Are you going to get in or not?”

Arthur walked past him, lips curved upwards at the corners. Merlin removed his own clothes and grabbed the cloth he'd brought, following Arthur into the lake.

The paint came away easily when Merlin wiped the cloth over Arthur's skin.

#

There must have been some intrinsic enchantments in the symbols; now that they were gone, Arthur didn’t feel so... strange. Merlin’s magic had been restless all night, suspicious of the unfamiliar power. Arthur had been covered in only Merlin’s magic for so long that it didn’t recognise him properly when mere sigils were painted on him.

Merlin buried his hands in Arthur’s hair, gasping as his magic surged through him, stealing his breath. 

#

“Did you bring the oil?”

Merlin swore, lying back on the ground, closing his eyes, and his hand into a fist. A few seconds later he thrust the phial at Arthur, who took it and got the oil _everywhere_ when he fumbled with the lid. 

“One way of doing it,” Merlin said breathlessly, squirming as Arthur dragged his fingers through the oil on Merlin’s stomach. He bypassed Merlin completely, though, wrapping his fingers around his own cock and pulling lazily, sighing out a soft groan as Merlin watched, frustrated.

“You hated seeing me like that, didn’t you? Wearing their ... ‘colours’,” Arthur said, looking down at Merlin, who dragged his eyes up to Arthur’s face with visible effort. He took a moment to process Arthur’s question, then clenched his jaw. 

“I was just wary of them, that’s all.” He dropped his gaze to where a triskele had been painted over Arthur’s heart.

 

“You’re a terrible liar, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur whispered, biting his lip and tightening the circle of his hand. And that was absolutely enough of that.

Merlin slid his fingers through the oil trickling between his thighs and followed its path, circling his hole. Arthur frowned and wrenched Merlin’s hand away, leaning down and knocking the breath out of him, kissing him hungrily, reaching down to replace Merlin’s fingers. His first wasn’t coated in enough oil, and Merlin hissed, digging his fingers into Arthur’s back. Arthur softened the kiss, an apology, and pulled away to ensure his fingers were covered properly before pushing two into Merlin, bending them obligingly to hear his whine. He added a third finger, dropping a kiss to Merlin’s chest. 

“Just- hurry _up_!”

Arthur grinned and shifted backwards a little, jacking his cock once with his slicked fingers, and pressed forward. He didn’t know whether it was Merlin’s magic that seemed to pull him in faster than Arthur had intended, or just Merlin clutching at him. It didn’t really matter. 

Merlin hummed, high and strained, meeting Arthur halfway, magic spiking in his veins and nearly overwhelming him as Arthur moved maddeningly slowly, and Merlin cried out, scraping his nails down Arthur’s back. Arthur groaned, burying his face in Merlin’s neck and holding onto his hips. There hadn’t been time for this the night before; they’d been too exhausted - anxious the visit go well, relieved it had - and conscious of curious ears that didn’t need to know the tiny details of their relationship.

“You don’t- shouldn’t have to- defer to them,” Merlin said, palms soothing over the scratches he’d put there. Arthur leaned up on his elbow, fingers cupping Merlin’s head.

“I couldn’t ask them to form a treaty without showing any understanding of them.” 

“They didn’t need to try and paint you into one of them!”

That _was_ it; Merlin had _helped_ Arthur negotiate with them and even then- 

His hips jerked erratically as he came, mouthing at Merlin’s neck and angling himself to hit the best spot inside Merlin, who reached down to stroke himself off until he was tightening around Arthur’s softening cock, neck straining as his head tilted backwards.

Arthur was never going to let him live this down.

# 

“We need to wash, and get back,” Arthur said. 

Merlin nodded. They would, in due time. He continued to languidly trace the shape of a dragon onto Arthur’s chest with a finger.

* * *

**64**

Warnings: D/s and painplay  
Image(s) used: #8

The first fat drops of wax splattered across Merlin's right shoulder, startling a breath out of him. He tensed, clenched his hands into fists within their bonds, as he rode the sharp little pain over the initial crest.

The second time the wax hit his skin, the second, third, fourth time was _good_. It ran over his skin in sharp lines that forced the breath from him and made his muscles quiver.

It hurt, yes, a bit like when he bit his nails down to the quick, a sharp hurt, but guilty and self indulgent, a little self destructive.

That’s not what made him _crave_ , though, what made him want.

No- as Arthur drew line after line of fire across his back, marking him, _cleansing_ him, it made everything bright and sharp- alive- and _that_ , that was what he wanted.

He smelled the spicy scent of bayberry-infused tallow, not just in the candle Arthur held above him, ready to drown him in sensation again, but in the other candles he himself had lit around the room only an hour ago. He smelled the sunshine and soap that permeated the linen beneath his cheek, and the thick musky scent he associated with Arthur, and _wanting to fuck_.

He couldn't see anything, though, not through the fabric of one of Arthur's ceremonial sashes- Merlin had shivered almost violently at how irreverent it was, when Arthur had showed it to him- tied tightly around his eyes.

It was all so intoxicatingly _pleasurable._

And almost too much, too fast. The dozenth- maybe it was the hundredth- time Arthur dribbled the wax across his back, a long line that snaked along the bones of his spine, he finally cried out. The sound was breathy and desperate, and he only barely heard Arthur’s soft aroused cry in return, his softly spoken praise. "Shh, my love," as he traced the hardened lines of wax that striped his back with a blunt finger. "You are doing so well. By the gods, you are gorgeous like this."

Merlin didn't have the breath to respond, but at the words, something primal that had been winding up with each drip of wax upon his skin, _released_. He yearned to nuzzle against Arthur, to arch his back up into the hand that dealt both pain and punishing pleasure, even as he strained away from what he knew was still to come.

When Arthur tilted the candle again, the thin stream of wax layered upon his skin, found new skin that was none the less already hurting with rawness. Finally, _finally_ , he gave into the sensations, then, crossed that fine line between pleasure-pain, until his head was blissfully blank with it, and it was nothing at all to leave his body willingly in Arthur’s hands.

“Look at you,” Arthur breathed into his ear as he leaned over him, ran his hands down Merlin’s back, breaking up the hardened wax that had already begun to crack from his violent shaking.

He shook from the pain, yes, but also from the wellspring of emotion rising up to the surface, trapped only by the flimsiness of his skin.

It was only when the tears started, trembling in hesitation at the corners of his eyes for a moment, that Arthur finally stopped, finally allowed him time to breathe through the sensations crowding along his nerves. It still took him a long time to recognize the feel of being touched, to recognize the intimacy of skin to skin as Arthur traced a finger around the spasm of his hole with all the possessiveness of a man confident of his ownership.

He didn’t thrust inside right away, though, instead he drew his finger round and round, toying, teasing, slowly spiraling Merlin’s focus back into his body, to the place where he clenched with heat, and not the constant dull pain that was the entirety of his being. 

“Good,” Arthur cooed at him, as Merlin began to respond again, as he shifted to accommodate the growing flesh of his cock. “Good.”

When Arthur did slid his finger inside, targeting the hot center of Merlin’s pleasure with all the accuracy of a crossbow bolt, Merlin cried for a different reason.

And that was all it took, for everything to be _too much_ , for the pleasure and the pain to mix so exquisitely that he could do nothing but ride it through, confident that Arthur would protect him, would keep him from shattering beyond repair.

* * *

**65**

Warnings: Rimming, Crossdressing, D/s  
Image(s) used: #6

Flush and full, his cock bobbed in recognition of his lover's lips being so near. It was a birthday present. The least he could do was try. Focus on Merlin and try. 

Merlin pulled the sheer material up over Arthur's foot. It tickled and trapped him, a strange feeling that wasn't unpleasant but not exactly a turn on either. 

Another fleeting tap to his left heel and again Merlin tilted his head down to guide Arthur's other foot into the restrictive off white sheen of hosiery. 

Notoriously unruly hair tickled his balls causing Arthur to shiver. 

Merlin went to pull them up but was stopped. "Use the others first." Sir Gwaine leaned against a wall nearest to them. He was so casual in his direction, almost as if he didn't care. That was good. Arthur didn't want the man to care too much. Merlin was his. 

Arthur shifted feeling his body adjust to a new height. His ankles bound in tightly woven fabric. Two times he nearly stumbled getting the second heel on, but broad shoulders guided him.

A click click of the heels on the hard wood and warm breath to Arthur's cock, Merlin most definitely liked this from the way his eyes shown with want and pride. It was as if he was re-staking his own claim on Arthur's sex. It was...enticing.

"Pull up the stockings Princess. And let your handmaid lick you." Sir Gwaine was now more like a distant recording in the back of Arthur's mind, because his eyes were caught in Merlin's. A swift lick of tongue over a bottom lip before he bit into it with a challenge to Arthur. 

Slick wetness trailed down both their smoothed thighs, and Arthur bent forward. He tugged up the from the middle of the constrictive material. 

"Lick him clean Merlin."

Arthur's knees shook with the tension of staying up in the heels now without the support of his husband's shoulders. They may also have been shaking from the idea of Merlin shifting behind him, but how could he tell? 

Fingers trailed up the backs of his thighs and spread him open. A nose nuzzled deep between his parted cheeks followed by a whisper of lips and tongue licking his hole.

"Don't stop pulling them up Princess. Keep going. If you ever want to come, you have to get them all the way up." 

Smug bastard. 

Why would Arthur ever want Merlin to stop? He could come like this, legs bound at the ankle, teetering precariously in blood red heels. Then Arthur realized bent as he was, he couldn't touch himself without falling over. He couldn't come at all without dragging the tight material he clung to upwards.

"That's it Princess. Bring them up so after he's done licking you open, Merlin can suck you off through the material. He'll suck your trapped cock till you come."

The weight of the words and the hum of lips and tongue digging into him shattered inhibited notions of propriety. His hips needed to push back, but couldn't or he would fall. It was the constrictive pull of both Arthur's knees being locked together while another area so personal was pulled apart. The combined sensations released a series of impossible moans. It was so damn good.

Everything was smooth and damp with the clear leaking fluid of his cock and tiny beads of sweat over taught muscles. He struggled to pull up more, more, shifting his hips side to side in a quest for balance around a tongue that more than tasted him. 

With pain of oversensitive skin, his cock was forced into the stretched hosiery and Merlin finally had to pull back from the strained lack of access. 

Both men out of breath knew what was next. Sir Gwaine had told them.

"Lick the shaft Merlin with just the tip of your tongue until Princess begs you for more."

Smug Bastard.

* * *

**66**

Image(s) used: 05 

"Where are you going?"

"Mmm. Out?"

Merlin shielded his eyes from the early morning rays coming in through the window. He looked over to the doorway just in time to see Morgana roll her eyes at him before disappearing and padding her way down the stairs. 

It was early. Too early for Merlin to get up, especially today, but the creak of the front door to the cabin made him scramble out and go to the window. 

"Morgana."

She stopped and looked up at him, in all her faux put-upon, naked glory. Merlin had all intentions of questioning her outfit choices for strolls in the forest but as the wind moved the trees around her and the shadows and rays painted and danced on her skin, he was rendered speechless. Just like this, away from the crowds, the city, the tabloids, their busy lives; here at the cabin where it all started ten years ago, she was perfect. Without the tailored suits and her hair in tight buns ("Masculinity is everything in the stock market, Merlin."), it was just the soft lines of her naked body, the curves Merlin knew so well, and could retrace blind and recite like poetry. 

Merlin’s voice croaked around the dryness in his throat, "Wait, I’m coming down."

Morgana laughed, carefree, open, and shook her head. "Time is money, Merlin!" She took off across the underbrush, the leaves and twigs crunching, cracking under her feet, her long black hair trailing like waves behind her.

Merlin ran down, no longer caring about clothes or propriety, or the racing _I’m too old for this_ in his head. The brisk morning hit him just as his feet hit the forest floor, becoming a mosaic of twig and leaf impressions. 

If Morgana had ran off on him like this the first time, he’d have panicked, yelled, searched aimlessly. But now he knew her better than he knew himself and he wasted no time following her to their tree. When he finally got there, he couldn’t help holding back an echoing laugh. 

"Aren’t you worried about bark burn?" 

Merlin approached the tree slowly; eyes trained on Morgana, now hanging from the misshapen tree upside down like a kid from the monkey bars, holding on with one hand, her hair sweeping the leaves as she shook her head in answer. Like this, she was joie-de-vivre personified, laughing, teasing that “it looks much bigger from this angle” at his unflagging erection.

Merlin kissed her knees when he reached her, nuzzling his way down between them, between the soft skin of her thighs. He felt the giggle catch in her throat and she shivered against him. Morgana’s free hand travelled up from the ground, nails gently raking up Merlin’s leg, pulling him closer. Merlin moved in, lips not leaving the flesh of her thigh, bending his body and moving down to bury in her pubic hair. 

He inhaled her scent and let it engulf him completely, nosing through the hairs until the tip of his nose slid between her lips. Another gasp from below as Morgana’s other hand clung to him, all nails and pleasure-pain, making Merlin thrust forward, cock sliding into the groove between her breasts. 

Morgana bit at his thigh in warning, moaned, "Lift me up, let me suck you." Merlin had never been one to deny her. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and lifted, feeling her body slide against his, a delicious glide of skin, until her arse rested on the tree. He held her in place and buried his face back in between her folds trying not to focus on the sudden heat engulfing his cock. He lapped at Morgana’s clit, feeling her moans all around him, tried to make her feel as good as he did. He kissed at her pussy, focusing on her pleasure, licking and sucking. 

Merlin knew she was close when her thighs trembled around his face and he was spurred on, knowing how much she loved the pleasure-pain threshold, the overstimulation, licking directly at her hard clit over and over, face covered in her juices. He heard her cry out after a particularly strong lick and Morgana gripped his arse and pulled him further into her mouth, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat. As Morgana tightened her thighs around his head, riding out her orgasm, Merlin couldn’t hold back and came down her throat, his legs nearly giving out.

When they collapsed, spent, the underbrush caught their fall.

* * *

**67**

Warnings: strong language, implied abuse, infidelity  
Image(s) used: Image Number 9

Arthur closed his eyes and scowled, taking in a deep lungful of smoke before tugging the cigarette away from his lips. He opened his eyes on the exhale and stared morosely upwards. 

The stain near the light fixture had grown twice in size since he had last been here, it seemed. Perhaps things would have been different if he had chosen somewhere better, he mused. Somewhere classier.

Not that it mattered. Not now, anyway.

Taking a long, slow drag of his cigarette, he contemplated the events of the previous hour.

Arthur had been waiting impatiently in the hotel room – always the same room – naked but for a towel slung around his waist. Fifteen minutes later there was a knock on the door and Arthur had flung it open eagerly. As expected, Merlin had been standing there and Arthur had barely waited for him to enter the room before slamming the door shut and pulling Merlin roughly towards him.

But then something that Arthur had not anticipated occurred.

Merlin had pushed him away. For the first time ever, Merlin had rejected him.

‘I’m sorry Arthur,’ he had said, even as Arthur had stared, and – to give Merlin credit – he did actually look torn up about it. ‘But I can’t do this. Not any more. Not – not like this.’

And then he had gone on to list all the reasons why he wanted to end things. Arthur _hurt_ him, he didn’t respect him, he was _selfish_ , he was already married, he didn’t know how much Merlin had given up for him, he just _used_ him … The list went on.

And then, having said that, Merlin had had the gall to look _relieved_ , to look _unburdened_ … Arthur had wanted to fucking smash his pretty little face into the wall.

He hadn’t though.

He had merely nodded and had then quietly asked Merlin to leave.

The moment the door was shut he had walked calmly over to the bedside table and, pulling a cigarette out of an almost-empty box, had proceeded to light it and slowly breathe in the heady, nicotine-infused smoke. Then, just as calmly, he had tugged the towel off from around his waist and had lay down in the middle of the bed, completely naked, and had proceeded to stare at the ceiling.

And that was where he was now, contemplating the ceiling stain while smoking one of his last remaining cigarettes.

 _Merlin used to look at that stain,_ he thought. _He used to lie here, on his back, and stare at that stain while I fucked him. Fucked him hard._

He felt his prick twitch. Calmly, he brought his cigarette to his lips once more.

 _Yeah,_ he thought. _I fucked him good. Really good._

Slowly, his right hand slid down his body towards his groin.

 _Yeah._ He grunted. _Fuck. That’s what I’d do now. Shove him down and just – just – Fuck._

He swallowed a grunt as the head of his dick suddenly gave a blurt of precum, making everything stickier, smoother, more easily handled.

 _Christ Merlin,_ he groaned. _So fucking tight. Yes, just like that._ He tightened the grip of his fist around his dick. _Fuck yes._

Out of nowhere the memory of Merlin’s words from that afternoon popped into his head.

‘You just use me, Arthur,’ Merlin said, voice thick and eyes full of unshed tears. Crocodile tears. Whore’s tears. ‘You don’t – I’m just another random body to you. You _use_ me.’

 _Fuck,_ Arthur swore, fucking into his fist even faster. _I’ll_ use _you. Fuck will I use you. Fucking treacherous slut._

He moaned and sped up the pace of his fist, stroking harder, rougher.

‘I won’t do it,’ Merlin had said, shaking his head with conviction, his voice growing stronger. ‘No more, Arthur. I won’t allow you to use me any more.’

 _Well I’m using you_ now, Arthur thought viciously. _I’m using you and there’s nothing you can do about it. Fuck! _he swore, now almost painfully on the threshold of orgasm. _Fuck – Merlin, I – I fucking love –___ And with one more vicious twist of his wrist he climaxed, body contorting violently as he wrung every last drop of seed from his body with the tightness of his fist.

Body trembling, he finally let go of his now-limp dick and wiped his hand on the coverlets, breathing hard.

Then, calm once more, he slowly brought his cigarette back up to his lips.

Taking one long drag, he closed his eyes and smiled.

* * *

**68**

Warnings: Dub con, underage (all characters engaged in sexual acts are of legal age in the UK)  
Image(s) used: Image #1

“Mate, I think that new kid shaves his pubes,” Gwaine says, watching Pendragon’s expression change from smiling to stunned in a beat.

“That skinny fifteen year old?” 

“Sixteen. I saw him in the showers at school yesterday after PE. Smooth as silk.” 

Pendragon’s eyes widen. 

“He went bright red, but I don’t think he minded me looking.” 

That earns Gwaine a hard shove. “Perv.” 

When Gwaine steadies himself and turns back to his friend, Arthur’s lost in thought. “He saw you?” Interested, just as Gwaine suspected.

Gwaine grins. “Yep.”

~o~

Gwaine’s eyes drift to Merlin lounging on a pool float, long fingers trailing in the water. All he can think about is the kid’s smooth balls, and he knows the same thing is on Pendragon’s mind. When they’d invited Merlin to hang out at Arthur’s pool, Merlin had seemed surprised, flattered to be noticed by the older boys.

Merlin watches Gwaine stand and stretch, blushes when he’s caught.

“I’m bored,” Gwaine says. 

Arthur rolls his eyes and finishes his beer before reaching for another, says, “surprise, surprise.”

“Wanna play a game?” Gwaine asks them both. Merlin nods. He hops into the water and paddles to the side before hoisting himself out. 

Even though he’s a bit on the skinny side, Merlin’s got a firm stomach that tapers into a pronounced V. His shorts cling to his hips, dripping on the concrete.

“What are we playing?” he asks, flopping into a chair and accepting a beer from Arthur. 

Gwaine smiles. “Never have I ever.”

“What are we, twelve?” Pendragon asks, but the protest is only half-hearted; his eyes are keen with interest. 

They go a few rounds, each asking relatively harmless questions until it’s Gwaine’s turn. “Never have I ever shaved my junk.” 

Merlin’s eyes snap open wide, face and chest flushing splotchy red. 

“Merlin?” Gwaine asks, raising his eyebrows in expectation. Merlin meets his challenging stare with his own, then tips his beer back and swallows, full lips obscene against the mouth of the bottle. 

“Christ,” says Pendragon, shifting in his chair. 

“Doesn’t it itch?” Gwaine asks, curious and growing aroused as the tension thickens like humidity around them. 

Merlin’s lashes are long as a girl’s. He shakes his head, embarrassed. 

“Let’s see.” 

“No.” Merlin’s already up and out of his chair, poised like he wants them to give chase. And fuck, his cock is thickening, tenting his trunks behind spread fingers that hide nothing. 

“Get his arms,” Gwaine tells Arthur, grinning. Merlin laughs and backs away, but not fast enough. When Arthur grabs him, Merlin struggles for a moment before collapsing against Pendragon’s broad chest.

“Shit.” Seeing Merlin helpless in Arthur’s arms is so hot, Gwaine falls to his knees. The air is full of Merlin’s nervous laughter as Gwaine wrestles down the damp shorts. 

Merlin’s erection is lean, dark pink, and long. Fuck, his bollocks as are smooth as Gwaine remembers. 

“Oh God,” Gwaine groans. “Would you look at this, Pendragon?” Merlin’s laughter has quieted. 

Arthur’s peers over Merlin’s shoulder, eyes glassy as he takes in the erection bobbing near Gwaine’s mouth. “Jesus,” he says. 

Gwaine reaches out, touches the hairless sack between Merlin’s legs. The kid moans and spreads his legs as wide as the trunks around his ankles will allow. 

“I need to…” Gwaine mutters with a near-hysterical laugh. 

“Do it. Suck his cock.” Pendragon says thickly. Gwaine looks up for permission, but instead is greeted with the sight of Arthur kissing a bruise into Merlin’s neck, tweaking his nipple into a peak.

Merlin whimpers and thrusts his hips forward, so Gwaine swirls his tongue under the ring of foreskin before pushing it back to get at the sensitive head. He lets Merlin fuck his mouth while Pendragon attacks Merlin’s neck, hands running possessively over the kid’s body. The cock slides slickly between Gwaine’s lips, and he nearly chokes when Merlin drives deep, his rhythm faltering. Behind Merlin, Pendragon is getting his nut, rutting against his arse. 

Gwaine holds the base of Merlin’s cock with one hand and mouths his tight sack, feels behind for the cleft. Fucking hairless. Kid shaves his hole, too. He pushes one finger inside and swallows Merlin to the root.

“Oh fuck, yeah,” Pendragon groans as he comes. Merlin cries out, whole body tensing as he spurts salty-hot down Gwaine’s throat. 

“Told you,” Gwaine says, panting, wiping his mouth as he gets his hand down his shorts to finish himself off with a quick jerk. “Told you he shaved his nads.”

* * *

**69**

Image(s) used: Image 7

It begun as subtle barbs:

“Hello Arthur dear, you’re looking more relaxed than usual. That extra hole in your belt must be giving you some more breathing room.”

“Be quiet Morgana.”  
***  
“Are you sure you should be having that second helping of potato salad? You know what they say; a moment on the lips is a lifetime on the hips.”

“I will pay you actual money to go away right now Morgana.”

***  
“All I’m saying Arthur, is that it seems like you’ve let yourself go a bit since becoming CEO. I mean there isn’t anything wrong with a bit of pudge, I’m sure Merlin loves it. Don’t you Merlin?

“I AM NOT PUDGY.”

***  
Eventually it devolved into this:

“So I bought you a new suit the other day. I think it’s time to upsize-”

“Enough Morgana! I am a perfectly healthy weight and certainly much fitter than you so- -”

“Excuse me,” Morgana snorted out in challenge, “I don’t think so.”

“Right, let’s settle this. Pendragon Manor, Sunday.”

“We’ll meet at the archery range. I want to see how well you do at a game that takes actual skill.”

***  
Sometime before the challenge this was decided:

“Who should we get to judge?” asked Morgana.

“Merlin can do it”

“No, Merlin is sleeping with you. What about Leon?”

“No, Leon wants to sleep with you” replied Arthur. “It’s hardly fair to rule out Merlin and then suggest Leon.”

“Fine,” said Morgana in annoyance “How ‘bout Gwen? She’s dated both of us; it would be a completely even playing field.”

“Gwen’s too bloody nice. She’d be apologising to whoever loses for weeks just trying to make sure nobody’s feelings were hurt. It would be an utter disaster”

“Well if we can’t choose someone who’s slept with both of us why don’t we choose someone who _wants_ to sleep with both of us?” Morgana proposed, eyes dancing with glee.

“No.” groaned Arthur dramatically “Not _Gwaine_.”

***  
“You guys are going to get naked right?”

“There will be absolutely no nudity Gwaine” Arthur said, jaw locked in a mulish expression.

“That’s bollocks. How can I decide who’s fitter if I can’t even see the gorgeous bodies I’m meant to be judging, Princess?”

“I don’t mind a bit of nudity,” Morgana injected smoothly, “I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.” She smiled at Arthur mockingly, scenting blood in the water like a vicious shark ready to strike. “It’s alright if you don’t want to though Arthur, I understand how delicate your emotional state has been since you’ve gained those few extra pounds.”

***  
Just before the challenge this happened:

“Why did Morgana agree to naked archery by the way?” asked Merlin “I’m sure she’s told you by now.” 

“Oh, Morgana was in the archery team in school” Gwen said, “I thought you knew that.”

“The archery isn’t the part I was wondering about,” Merlin said drily, “I was asking about the naked bit mostly.”

“Oh. That.” Gwen looked at him teasingly. “Well I think Morgana is hoping to distract Arthur with the loveliness of her naked bosoms. Not that he would be looking on purpose, I mean he has you, it’s just that Morgana's breasts are quiet spectacular to look at and her nipples-”

“Oi, spectators!” Gwaine interrupted rudely, to Merlin’s quiet relief. “The slags are ready to compete when you are.”

***  
The actual challenge went like this:

From the moment Arthur’s naked form appeared, the sun kissing his bare torso lovingly, Merlin remained transfixed. 

There was definitely something magnificent on the archery field but it wasn’t necessarily Morgana's breasts.

***  
Just after the challenge:

“Did you want me to lose Merlin?” asked Arthur, gripping the dark hair beneath him tightly. The copse behind the archery range wasn’t exactly the best place to hand out the discipline he intended but it would have to do.

“I could feel you staring at me, distracting me,” he panted as Merlin hummed around his dick. 

“You made me lose Merlin,” Arthur continued. “We could be celebrating at home, your hands tied to the headboard while I fuck you into oblivion,” Arthur pumped his hips faster into Merlin's pliant mouth, “Instead, you don’t get to come until I say you do.”

Merlin groaned as Arthur pulled back, sucking the head of Arthur's cock until the taste of him exploded into his mouth.

***  
Merlin was still heavy in his jeans, stroking lightly at Arthur’s slight love handles when Arthur found his voice again. 

“I am not fat,” Arthur pouted ridiculously.

Merlin nipped playfully at Arthur’s hips. “No,” he agreed, “You’re perfect.”

***  
Somewhere in the Manor house Morgana was smirking to herself. Men were so predictable.

* * *

**70**

Warnings: barebacking, minor dub-con, minor d/s theme  
Image(s) used: Image #2

**Ex-Sex**

He shouldn’t be doing this.

That was the last coherent thought he had before Arthur grabbed his shoulders, shoved him into the nearest wall, and started to kiss him senseless. Perhaps he could have retained a shred of dignity if it would have been an ‘I’m over you and this is goodbye’ sort of kiss-- but no, this was the mother of all ‘I want to throw you on the floor and fuck you raw’ kisses.

Merlin considered reminding him that _Arthur_ had broke up with _him_ six months ago, but when he opened his mouth to do so, Arthur immediately slipped his tongue in and-- **fuck**! He had missed this.

Merlin groaned and grabbed onto Arthur’s belt loops. With a not-so-gentle tug, Merlin yanked him forward until they were pressed tightly together.

“I’ve wanked to the thought of you every night for six months.” Arthur had all but growled into his ear. Merlin shivered from head to toe and welcomed the familiar feeling of Arthur’s hard length rutting into his thigh.

“You have no idea--” Merlin started to say, but was silenced when Arthur’s blunt teeth scraped over his neck and sunk into his sensitive skin. He sucked until Merlin’s skin began to bruise and he couldn’t help but let out a low whimper. 

Arthur pulled back slowly and smirked at him. “Oh, I think I have an idea,” he retorted and pressed his hand firmly against Merlin’s cock.

Merlin’s heart jumped into his throat, and all he could do was whisper a defeated, “ _Please._ ”

In a flurry of movement, Arthur removed both their shirts and managed to get Merlin’s pants down around his ankles.

“Consider this my first ever, and only, apology.” Arthur said as he dropped to his knees.

In one swift motion, Arthur gripped the base of his cock and sucked the head into his mouth. Seeing Arthur on his knees with his arrogant mouth stretched around Merlin’s cock was almost too much. Merlin wanted to thrust forward into that mouth; fuck him until his throat was raw and his lips were bleeding.

Unfortunately, Arthur was having none of it. He pinned Merlin to the wall and made him remember exactly why Arthur _always_ got what he wanted. It was still good though.

So good.

When Arthur finally started to move, Merlin’s eyes rolled back into his head and he sagged against the wall, gripping Arthur’s shoulders for balance.

Arthur teased him mercilessly by swirling his tongue over Merlin’s head and into his slit, but nothing more. His body was on fire, screaming for more and writhing under Arthur’s grip.

 _‘More!’_ he screamed in his head, but was unwilling to give his shameless begging a voice.

Arthur seemed to have psychic powers though, because he finally relented and took all of him down his throat. Merlin instinctually bucked against Arthur’s grip and dug his nails into Arthur’s back, leaving scratch marks when Arthur abruptly swallowed around him.

All too soon, Merlin felt his balls tighten and his stomach clench, warning him of his impending orgasm.

“I’m going to come,” Merlin shouted in warning as his fingers dug into Arthur’s already irritated skin.

Arthur abruptly pulled off him with a pop and stood up. “Not yet,” he commanded as he squeezed his fingers firmly around the base of Merlin’s cock. Merlin moaned in disapproval, but knew better than to object.

“Turn around.” Arthur demanded. No sooner than he complied, Arthur had two lubed up fingers inside him, scissoring and stretching him. Fuck! Where had the lube come from?

That son of a bitch had planned this!

As Arthur’s fingers brushed his prostate, he found he really didn’t care.

Another finger was added quickly, nearly making Merlin come undone. His dick was hard and an angry red. Precome steadily leaked from his slit, dribbling its’ way down his cock.

“I’m going to fuck you now.” Arthur whispered before he bit down on the back of Merlin’s neck.

Arthur pushed in without restraint, pounding him into the wall. Merlin took it all, and pushed his hips back to meet each thrust. They were both too worked up to last very long, and he soon felt Arthur’s release shooting deep inside of him.

“Come for me.” Arthur demanded, and Merlin did as he was told. His body seized up and he covered the wall with his release.

“Mine.” Arthur said into his skin and placed a gentle kiss on his back.

Merlin couldn’t help but agree.

END

* * *

**71**

Image(s) used: 02

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed, cutting the engine of their dingy. 

Merlin started to worry. It had been Arthur’s idea to go wilderness camping, so that the only way in was by dingy. Merlin had been against it. The idea of being so far removed from civilization made him think of people dying of bear attacks

“Is it the engine?” Merlin worried, turning around on his bench and clutching his life jacket desperately. 

“No,” Arthur murmured, starting to peel off his life jacket. 

“Arthur, according to the boating manual, you’re supposed to wear your life jacket at all times within a small vessel like this,” Merlin warned him. 

“Is that so,” Arthur smirked, throwing his life jacket down into the boat. Standing there, bare-chested, he winked as he slipped one hand under the swim trunks. 

“Arthur!” Merlin yelped, glancing towards the shoreline to make sure there were no witnesses. 

“Come on Merlin,” Arthur moaned, as he stopped pulling at himself long enough to stand up and step out of his swim suit.   
Merlin swallowed thickly at the sight of Arthur, aroused and naked before him. 

“You shouldn’t stand in a boat,” Merlin whispered hoarsely, his eyes unable to leave the proud erection that Arthur cupped and toyed under Merlin’s watchful eyes. 

“That’s a canoe,” Arthur quipped. “You shouldn’t stand in a canoe. We’re in a dingy.”

“Same thing,” Merlin licked his lips. 

“A dingy has a motor, Merlin,” Arthur moaned, his hand pumping faster. “Come on. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“We’re in the middle of a bay,” Merlin reminded up, even as his hand went to press against his hard on, desperate for some relief. 

“We haven’t seen another living soul in twenty minutes,” Arthur reminded him. “And I’ve had to sit here and look at you with your ridiculous life jacket, and you’re swim shorts are riding low, and ... just get naked Merlin.”

“I could fall in and drown,” Merlin whined. 

Growling, Arthur leaned down and pushed Merlin so he was on his knees, stomach flat against the bench. Merlin moaned as Arthur tugged down his swim shorts, exposing his bare ass to the fresh water breeze. 

“Then we’ll keep your life jacket on,” Arthur muttered in his ear. Merlin rolled his eye when Arthur reached for the bailer and pulled out a condom and lube. 

“Seriously, you’re keeping it in the bai ...” Merlin trailed off as Arthur’s finger’s roughly penetrated him. 

“What was that Merlin?” Arthur asked, nipping his ear as he pumped his fingers in deep and hard.

“People ... see,” Merlin moaned, leaning back against the intrusion, desperate for more. 

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Arthur whispered. He pulled out his fingers and Merlin whimpered at the loss. Then the pressure was back as Arthur pressed into him, slowly penetrating. “You want some boat to come by, see you on your knees, begging for it. You want them to see you taking it, still wearing your life jacket.”

“Arthur,” Merlin moaned, trying to push back enough to reach down to his own hard cock. Arthur was having none of it; he pounded into him harder, pushing him against the bench. 

“Come on Merlin,” Arthur commanded, pulling up on the back of Merlin’s life jacket to hoist him up. He reached his hand around and ruthlessly started to stroke Merlin’s cock. “This what you wanted? Want the world to see you come?”

“Yes,” Merlin moaned, leaning his head back in submission. “I’m ...”

Giving a strangled whimper and moan, Merlin spurted over Arthur’s capable hands. As he went limp, Arthur grabbed his hips and lasted a few more thrusts, before he stilled inside of him. 

Finally, after regaining their breath, Arthur slipped out of him and restarted the engine. 

“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” Merlin asked, distracted by the wind against his flaccid cock. 

“It’s called wilderness camping, Merlin,” Arthur scolded, “meaning no one is around. We are going to be naked the entire time.”

Merlin was about to complain, but then, who was he to pass up so quality naked time. Smirking back at Arthur, Merlin slowly undid his life jacket, winking as he tossed it to the floor. As Arthur once again stopped the engine and tackled Merlin to the hull of the boat, all he could do was laugh. They would reach their camp site eventually.

* * *

**72**

Image(s) used: 04

“Post-coital cigarette?”

Freya starts and looks up. Embarrassingly, she was too busy staring at her hands and chain-smoking to even realize he’d woken up, and there he is, propped up on his elbows and watching her with a smile that reminds her he’s being kind, that he knows her well enough to know she only smokes when she’s nervous. That’s enough to wring a smile out of her. “A few hours late for that. What are you doing up?”

“I’ve been cruelly abandoned.” Gwaine rolls out of bed, lazy as a lion in the morning and unself-consciously naked. She’s half-dressed, a camisole and pants and one of his shirts unbuttoned over it, because she’s never been one to strut about naked, even in her own flat. “You okay?”

“Fine. I promise.” He wanders over to her and she exhales to clear the smoke before he kisses her, tasting of morning and soured wine and the smoke from her mouth. That puts her on firmer ground, as he must have intended, and she spreads her legs to let him walk in closer, cigarette going to ash as she holds it away from them. “Really, go back to bed. It’s Saturday, we don’t need to be up for hours.”

“Exactly, we don’t. So you can come back to bed.” He pouts, which should by all rights look ridiculous but by some mysterious alchemy manages not to be, and Freya fakes a put-upon sigh before stubbing her cigarette out on the windowsill.

Gwaine takes that as full capitulation and lifts her, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist or fall. “What are you _doing_?” she asks, grin breaking out despite herself.

“Practicing,” he says with a wink, and for an instant she’s breathless with panic and not with laughter, but it goes away before she has to examine it, and he dumps her on the bed with a creak of springs and a lascivious wiggle of his eyebrows, settling her at the edge, where her feet would reach the floor if her legs were longer. Freya laughs, as she’s meant to, and he kneels to scrape his teeth at her hip and ease her panties off.

When he’s done, Gwaine stays down there, and Freya shivers with anticipation, parting her thighs. She knows what comes next, and sure enough, there’s his stubble scraping her thighs, his tongue sliding into her slit, his hands coming up to grab her hips. It’s a well-known feeling with a new edge to it this morning, like he’s caught her worry or has some of his own, and he sucks hard on her clit and is sloppy with his tongue inside her, making muffled noises whenever she grabs for his hair or bucks into his mouth.

Freya comes, as she always does, gasping for air, drowning in the orgasm. It takes her a minute to come back from it, and when she does, she’s surprised he hasn’t come up the bed to kiss her while they figure out how to get him off. She looks, and there he is, still on the floor and looking up at her. She winces and props herself up on her elbows. “I’m kneeling,” he offers. “I could ask again, and you can give a different answer this time. I won’t mind, nothing will change.”

“I’ll just …” She takes a deep, shuddering breath, thinks of all the reasons to say no in the light or morning and then thinks of saying _yes, yes, God, of course_ in giddy delight in the dark with him kissing her palm. “I’ll just give you the same answer all over again.”

A smile breaks across his face, and Freya feels steady, remembers she isn’t the only one terrified of this even if they both want it too. She sits up and holds out her left hand, and Gwaine takes it, brushes a kiss across the claddagh ring he moved from her right hand to her left when she said yes. “I think,” he says, grinning up at her wicked and happy, “I might ask again just to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” she says, and he tackles her back into the bed, kissing her and kissing her until she forgets she ever had doubts at all.

* * *

**73**

Warnings: crossdressing  
Image(s) used: image #6

Percy’s first, second, and third impression is that there’s something weird about Merlin from accounts, because:

>   
> a) he really doesn’t care about numbers very much, but he can make them do all sorts of things no one in the entire company really understands.

> b) he’s an exclamation-mark thin Excel geek and yet everyone listens to him. Even when – no, _especially_ when he’s not talking about numbers.

> c) he’s always humming that song from _Chicago_.

The first two he got over when Merlin made him a Pot Noddle one day just because he apparently looked like a man in need of something “disgusting but sort of satisfying” for lunch, and the latter he put down to Merlin maybe just liking Catherine Zeta Jones (someone must, after all). So when they’re away at a conference and they end up sharing a room, and Merlin says he’s not really hungry and he’ll join them all after dinner, and Percy – having forgotten his phone – heads back up to said room, pretty much the last thing he’s expecting is that Merlin will be in the bathroom, leaning into the mirror to apply a smear of cranberry lipstick. If he’d ever made a list of potential fetishes for Merlin, spreadsheet kink and pie chart fixation would have ranked so much higher than this.

Backing out, muscles tense and face hot with having intruded on something no one was intended to see, Percy closes the door.

Or – he intends to, getting it almost flush to the frame before he takes a tiny – teeny tiny, barely counts – peek.

Under the harsh, anodyne lights of the bathroom, the glint of patent black heels gives way to stockings the colour of snow, a crop of dark hair squashed between the nylon and the curve of his calves. As if he needs instruction, a squiggle of seam points the way up over his thighs to a bump of arse, neatly cossetted by the cling of the material. Above the waistband of the tights, he’s not wearing anything, his chest bare but his lashes long and extra black. Humming that damn song, he turns, regarding himself in the mirror with an appraising tilt of his head, smiling, nodding, before he takes a step back from the sink and touches his dick, where it’s caught, hard, under the fine mesh.  
Percy knows with every cell that he should close the door, go to the bar, and drown this image in whiskey. His brain shouts – what if he sees? What are you doing? – but still he stays and watches, rapt.

Through the gauzy material, Merlin strokes. Reedy as he is, there’s plenty of muscle in his arms to flex as he starts to jerk himself off properly, and coupled with the quivering part of his lips, it pushes the words _fuck, he’s beautiful_ into Percy’s head, where it catches, intractable.

Steadying himself with a hand on the wall and begging that no one will walk down the hall and startle him before he’s seen what his face looks like twisted with coming, Percy touches himself. Copying Merlin, he fingers the outline of his cock through his jeans, and Merlin might have a head start but Percy soon catches up when Merlin spreads his legs and lets his head fall back, other hand trailing down his chest. 

Slipping his hands inside the tights, Merlin quickens his pace, knuckles extruding through the material as he tugs on his balls. He’s much rougher than Percy would be with him – 

Percy swallows. Not that he’s thinking of touching him – not Merlin from accounts, surely? He can't deny his reaction, or dodge the sliver-thin thought about how brilliant it would feel to have a ring of Merlin’s lipstick claiming his dick.

A mumbled, urgent grunt in the room and Merlin’s eyes fall to the mirror. Body twitching before going almost perfectly still, he clings to the edge of the sink and spills – white as the tights – all over his fingers.

He knows it’s weird, but Percy doesn’t stop watching.

And the weirdest thing of all is: it’s Merlin humming that song to himself as he rolls the stockings down, wipes off the lipstick, and turns back into himself that has Percy biting the back of his hand and coming against the zip of his jeans.

* * *

**74**

Warnings: Underage Merlin, older Arthur  
Image(s) used: Image 7. used as inspiration.

“Do you want to win?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to be the best?” Arthur asked. 

“Y-Yes.” The boy croaked, arm straining, fingers twitching under his chin.

“Good.” Arthur smiled, mouth grazing over the shell of the boy’s ear. “Then no distractions.”

 

He was stood at the back of the group, coal black hair matched against almost translucent skin. He was slender in frame, tall – much taller than a fifteen year old should be. When Arthur looked him over it wasn’t with thoughts of how best he could train this boy, rather ‘I wonder what sounds he’d make if I fed him my cock? Fucked his pretty mouth until his lips bled.’ He caught the kid’s eye, startling blue and frighteningly all-knowing. He’d smiled, innocent, youthful and damn – Arthur fucked into his fist on his lunch break, alone and hard. He was determined to have him.

This boy, Merlin, had been taunting Arthur all day –the bastard – all coquettish glances and heavy breathing during positioning.

He was good. More than good but he was complacent. 

The line of his drawing arm could be tighter, his footwork not quite as balanced as it should be and still he was the best Olympic prospect on the team - and he knew it. 

 

“You’re the one who seems distracted.” Merlin hitched, back straight against Arthur’s chest. “Coach.”

A draw of breath hissed through Arthur’s teeth. “Hit the target.”

Merlin blinked, pulled his elbow back further and released. The arrow landed in the outer blue ring.

“Again.” Arthur instructed, stepping closer. His thigh brushed against Merlin’s, erection straining against his tracksuit – shamefully obvious. The boy stumbled. It took him three tries to slot another arrow into his bow and take position. He fired – inner blue.

“Shit.”

“No distractions.”

The field was silent, floodlights flickering in the darkening hours of the summer evening. Merlin bent to ready his bow and almost collapsed back down as Arthur slipped a finger past the top of his shorts. His other hand came up to steady the boy, gripping hard enough to leave bruises at his waist. He cocked his finger to run along the crease of Merlin’s crack. Slow strokes that teased gasping moans from Merlin’s lips. Arthur smirked, drawing his finger out and chuckling as the boy’s body helplessly pushed back for more. 

 

“You’ll soon be performing in packed out arenas, Emrys.” Arthur spoke calmly, as if his dick wasn’t aching to push Merlin to the ground and fuck his pert virginal ass until he was sobbing into the dirt. 

“You’re going to have to learn to block everything out and just focus on the target. Now, elbow slightly higher,” Arthur moved Merlin into position. “Toe facing forward,” he kicked at the heel of Merlin’s shoe. 

There was hesitance in Merlin’s posture, as if every pore in his body was high-wired to react to Arthur’s touch. Merlin’s fingers begun to loosen their grip on the string when Arthur slid two wet fingers down the back of his shorts, blunt nails catching on the rim of the boy’s hole and making him scream. The arrow left his bow and pierced the ground. Merlin reached to grab Arthur’s hand on his waist, knees knocking. His fingers rubbed circles over the pucker of Merlin’s hole, sneaking the tip of one finger past the tight ring of muscle before pulling out and continuing its torturous caress. 

“A-Arthur.” Merlin hitched. 

“Coach.” Arthur cut him off forcibly, nails digging into the skin across the jut of Merlin’s hip.

He dragged the boy back against him, pushed his fingers harder and breached the space between his thighs fully. The quick suck on his fingers hadn’t been nearly enough to make this smooth for Merlin – it was dry and harsh. But that didn’t seem to matter as Merlin tipped his head back to rest on Arthur’s shoulder, withering on his fingers with reckless abandon. Merlin clenched his arse on every sharp stroke. 

“Another.” Arthur bit out. Fingers jabbing faster, scissoring to hit that bundle of nerves that made Merlin’s hips jerk. 

“What?” 

“Fire another.” 

Merlin growled; the sound jolting Arthur’s cock and dampening the front of his trousers further. Merlin prepared himself, raised the bow with shaky hands. Arthur halted his fingers, buried deep inside Merlin’s arse. 

“Now,” Arthur panted against Merlin’s neck, lips sucking the blood to the surface. He bit down hard, crooked his fingers and Merlin cried out. Arrow flying – Bulls eye.


	4. Group A (clean)

**01**

Arthur often declares, pointedly within his roommate’s hearing, that smoking is a filthy habit. It’s unhealthy and unpleasant. Anyone who does it is an idiot.

Whenever he says this, Merlin just grins at him and lights up.

In truth, Arthur’s objections are more to do with the way the heat curls under his skin when Merlin purses his lips around a slim white tube, his long fingers flicking at his lighter. The way his mouth waters at the sinful curve of Merlin’s mouth as he exhales.

Arthur suspects Merlin knows this.

*

Arthur knocks softly on Merlin’s bedroom door. It’s late, he should just go to bed, but he hasn’t seen Merlin all day, and he’ll feel weird and unsettled if he doesn’t at least check in with him. It’s probably unhealthily co-dependent, but he’s long since given up caring.

“Merlin?” he calls softly, pushing the door open when he gets no reply.

Merlin’s naked, slouched over in the armchair squashed into the corner of his room, with one hand on his cock. But Arthur’s eyes are drawn automatically to the cigarette held between two fingers or his other hand, poised on the edge of his pink lips.

Arthur draws a sharp breath; his pulse races.

Merlin looks _gorgeous_ ; languid and sexy and Arthur doesn’t know whether he wants to stumble across the room and replace the cigarette with his dick, or stumble across the room and drop to his knees.

Merlin isn’t perturbed by his entrance, he doesn’t blush or stammer or move to cover himself. Instead, he smirks and slides the cigarette fully between his lips, then trails his now-free hand down his chest, not stopping until he’s cupping his balls and spreading his legs further to give Arthur a perfect view.

Arthur has to bite his lip to keep from groaning when Merlin’s hand moves again, finger sliding between his legs to brush against his hole.

Merlin has no such qualms; he moans deep in his throat, eyes flicking up to stare at Arthur. After an endless moment, he reaches up, removes the cigarette, and exhales, the smoke curling around his head.

“Come here.”

He says it softly, no urgency, but it unlocks Arthur’s limbs and he’s there in an  
instant, on his knees and so turned on he can hardly breathe around it. Merlin’s hand ( _the one that was just on his dick_ , Arthur’s brain screams at him) reaches out to brush through his hair, stroke across his cheek, caress his mouth. Arthur looks up and Merlin’s smiling at him, that fond, cheeky look he wears so often when he looks at Arthur.

Merlin’s hand nudges him, intent obvious, and Arthur is willing, desperate, to oblige. He lowers his head and takes the head of Merlin’s cock into his mouth, slowly, savouring the taste and feel.

It’s not the best blow job he’s ever given; it’s a little sloppy and he chokes the first time Merlin’s cock hits the back of his throat. Merlin doesn’t seem to mind, given the way he hums his pleasure and urges Arthur on with the hand in his hair.

The cigarette dangling forgotten from Merlin’s fingers is the only indication of the passage of time: Arthur’s knees don’t hurt, his jaw doesn’t ache, he feels like he could do this endlessly, stay here and wring more of those delicious panting noises out of Merlin for all eternity. The cigarette is burning low now, close to Merlin’s skin. It feels like his time is almost up.

He takes one hand off Merlin’s hip and pushes his own jeans and boxers down to mid-thigh, wrapping his hand around his neglected cock. The moment he touches himself, time speeds up again, and he’s desperate to come, desperate to see _Merlin_ come. He slides his hand from the base of Merlin’s cock and brushes a finger against his entrance.

Arthur looks up as he does it, begging permission, and Merlin’s eyes are wide and dark when he nods. It only takes the press of Arthur’s finger to the tight ring of muscle, Merlin opening around him and Arthur’s lips and tongue and throat still working furiously, and Merlin’s coming, in his mouth, and the taste of him pushes Arthur over the edge.

He’s breathing heavily, forehead pressed into Merlin’s hip, when he feels a tug on his hair. He goes willingly, climbing awkwardly into Merlin’s mouth and ignoring Merlin’s huff of amusement. 

Merlin’s mouth tastes of ash and smoke.

* * *

**02**

Surprising Freya is still one of Merlin’s favourite things, and there’d been joy enough in watching her find the envelope with the plane tickets, propped on the counter by her keys, watching her mouth draw up in an ‘o’ and her eyes grow wide with unexpected delight.

“Venice?” Freya had said, her voice hushed with bliss, and Merlin had grinned as he kissed the upturned corner of her mouth.

That was nothing, though, compared to what it’s like to stand beside her now, on the tiny balcony of their room, and watch her fall in love with a place; the water of the canal straight below them, the sun above, glistening off old rooftops and rippled waves.

Freya is utterly silent, and that’s her all over: quiet with her happiness, so careful, like the slightest noise may cause it to crack and fall into dust.

They get lost well before lunch, wandering the narrow alleys, Freya’s eyes growing brighter and her smile growing wider as the ever-present tang of salt settles into their noses, their lungs. Getting lost is part of the Venice experience, Merlin had read that somewhere, and maybe it’s part of what he was looking for when he booked the tickets: the two of them together, unreachable, unfindable, hidden from the rest of the world.

It’s cheaper to eat standing up than to take a table, so that’s what they do, in a trattoria with crumbling plaster walls painted a faded bluish-brownish-green that must once have matched the colour of the sea. Merlin and Freya share a basket of polpette, the fish inside piping hot and flaky, the breading of the little fried balls sticking to their fingers, and wash it down with one Campari between them. Merlin finds himself half mesmerised by the wave of Italian washing over them, loathe to break it up with English, and Freya must feel the same, because they limit their own conversation to the flickers of their eyes and twists of their smiles.

A water taxi back to their rooms, after that. They’re in a mood to spend the afternoon indoors.

Freya flings open the window before she loops her arms around his neck, pulling their bodies flush together, and if Merlin weren’t already hard from the boat ride - the rhythmic slap of the water, Freya’s hand on his thigh, too high to be innocent, one finger ever-so-lightly pressing against his cock - Merlin would grow against Freya now, except he already feels pulled more taut than he can bear. He’s ready to press, to thrust, to rut.

He backs up against the bed, pulling her down on top of him, licking at the salt on her skin, in the crook of her neck, letting himself drown in the curling tendrils of her hair.

Freya works at his belt, lowers his zip, then stops, her small hand pressing firm and sure through the cloth of his boxers to his cock. She believes in giving moments time to breathe; Merlin’s bad at that sometimes, and knows it, so he stills his hips, lets himself feel the sea air on his body, the low pulse in his blood, the ageless love in his heart.  
“I’m going to take off your shirt now,” he says, when he can’t hold any longer.

She laughs, the arch of her back sweet and instinctive. “You always have the best ideas.”

Later, much later, she’s sitting on the windowsill, smoking - bad habit, but everybody needs one of those, and Merlin’s long used to Freya tasting ever so slightly of ash, of death and rebirth. The late afternoon sun streams in behind her, throwing shadows and light over her smooth skin and the white of her camisole.

Merlin steps up between her legs, framed by her, blanketed by her, like the city is by the sea.

It’s a good way to spend the centuries.

* * *

**03**

He knows how to take a punch, endure the burn from pushing his body harder, rougher than endurance should allow. Pain has long been a common bedfellow, so familiar he can forget about it without effort.

But not all pain is the same. The first time a girl scratches his back, Percival almost comes on the spot.

A sting is different. It’s an act of desperation that refuses to be ignored. It doesn’t matter where the scratch occurs—along his arm, his shoulders, the inside of his thighs—because the effect is always the same. The rivulets of fire scorch their way across the rest of his skin to consume any rational thought he might have left.

None of the others know. Once, he thinks Elyan has figured it out when a fall into brambles leaves Percival digging his fingers into the soft earth to try and keep some semblance of control. But his “Well, if you wore sleeves once in a while…” is more joke than discovery, and Percival can jerk off during his watch that night, his free hand worrying the fresh scores along his forearm, safe in his secrets yet again.

The thing about secrets, though…they need to be told. Shared. Their power comes in exclusivity, not one or three owning them, but two. He begins looking at the men and women of Camelot with new eyes, wondering if this girl will understand, if that boy will recoil in disgust. He sees pairs clutch at each other in dim recesses, caught in the spaces between, and walks away hollowed from his unfulfilled desires.

Spotting Merlin and Gwaine behind the tavern isn’t so much an accident as it might be fate. Because he goes hard the second he sees Merlin’s long fingers rake down the side of Gwaine’s neck as their kisses turn to grappling.

“Watch it.” Gwaine’s voice is muffled with laughter. “I’m running out of stories to explain those to Arthur.”

The only stories Percival has heard involve scullery maids, so he doesn’t think it’ll be that hard to explain at all. And he shouldn’t watch, or stare at the beads of blood half-hidden by Gwaine’s hair, or wish he was the one pressing Merlin to the side of the building, feeling those nails claw and mark.

Except he does. When it gets too much to bear, he ducks into a dark corner and reaches inside his trousers. One stroke is all it takes.

From that point on, he doesn’t seek strangers. His eyes search for Merlin, those few minutes he witnessed fervent echoes he can’t block out.

For all his cravings, however, Merlin is the one who comes to him.

“Are we all right?”

Percival tries not to stiffen and fails. “Course.”

“It’s just…you’ve been watching me.”

When his eyes steal to Merlin’s hands, his face heats. “I watch everybody.”

“That’s not what Gwaine says.”

Though he might’ve dreamed about shoving Merlin to a wall and tearing into his body hard enough for Merlin to take his turn tearing at Percival’s skin, he’s not ready for this. “I just…I saw you two. Kissing. And…” Another glance at the long fingers, and his words choke away.

A knowing smile curves Merlin’s mouth. “Gwaine likes kissing.” He steps closer, and there’s nowhere for Percival to run, to escape the fresh flood of warmth suddenly inches from his vulnerable flesh. “What about you?”

Percival swallows, or tries to. Everything he’s wanted is right here, an offering for the taking if he can only find the nerve. The best he can manage is tugging aside the neck of his tunic, baring the scratches he inflicted upon himself that converge into a delicious burn over his nipple.

The tip of Merlin’s tongue appears, not along his lips but the edge of his teeth, nostrils flaring, pupils dilating as he drinks in the sight. Then he reaches out, up, and the world tunnels down to fingers and nails and the shudders wracking through Percival’s muscles when fresh blood wells in the skin Merlin breaks open again. “So we are all right.” His voice has gone gruff. “But we could be better.”

Percival nods.

And they are.

* * *

**04**

**Camera Shy**

“Fucking photographers.” His knees hurt. Not only that. The paint itched, all over, every-fucking-where as it dried. And where it wasn’t busy sucking the moisture from his skin he was naked, without even the paint as a cover. The photographer was staring at him like he could make him do what he wanted just by willing it. Sorry didn’t work that way. And the boss was standing back, shaking his head at a computer monitor.

“Move the hand over to the left a bit.”

Merlin glared at the camera lens. “Are you insane? I know this is a porn rag but give me some decency.”

The boss, who he hadn’t known was the boss when he walked in as he looked very normal besides being damn gorgeous, slapped a clipboard down and the photographer nearly dropped the camera. “I told you, it isn’t a porn rag. It is an artisan magazine. If you would shut up and loosen up long enough maybe we could get the picture and you could get out of here, never to show your pasty self again.”

Merlin scowled at him. Boss-man indeed. The photographer, whose name he really didn’t care to remember, turned to look over his shoulder. “I can’t get a shot that works. Any ideas, Arthur?”He turned back to Merlin and mouthed, “Porn rag.”

Dragging his hands through golden hair in frustration so it gave him a very nice just-shagged look, Arthur stared at Merlin and he fidgeted under the gaze. The paint seemed to be drying faster than ever as he tensed up. He was again thankful they’d placed his hand over his crotch because his cock gave a very inappropriate twitch under the scrutiny. He was probably going to start blushing ten shades soon.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. And oh hell this wasn’t good at all. He’d fought tooth and nail as they’d slathered him in the paint and now Arthur had picked up more and was coming toward him. It had taken everything to stave off an erection when it wasn’t Arthur doing the slathering. Not porn rag, artisan, not…He knelt in front of Merlin and dipped the brush in the paint so it came out looking like tar.

Merlin almost shimmied backward but Arthur pinned him there, like he knew he was going to move. The brush hit his shoulder and dragged down his side to send shivers through him. He closed his eyes, ignoring the cold and wet as Arthur repainted the lines they’d made earlier. It was easy to ignore. The paint over dried paint wasn’t as bad as on skin. He could get through this with his digni– “Bloody hell!” A new line had been started in the crease of his hip and that was not right at all.

He jumped backward but a hand stopped him and his eyes snapped up to find Arthur staring at him, equal parts amused and exasperated. “Hold still you idiot or we’ll have to start over.”

A full shudder ran down his back. “O-over?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and ran the brush over his chest. “Yes, over.” Merlin’s face must have shown something of his horrified arousal because a smirk quickly stole over Arthur’s face. He put the brush down and reached into the paint himself, watching Merlin the whole time.

Merlin cursed his overactive mind as it quickly supplied a place that hand could go if it really wanted. The hand dragged itself from the paint and dripped leisurely as Arthur studied him. Merlin barely had time to swallow before Arthur whipped forward and his fingers brushed below Merlin’s navel causing him to inhale so sharply his ribs had to be standing out.

“Take a coffee break. I think Merlin needs some help loosening up. Don’t you, Merlin?”

Hardly able to believe his ears, and very unable to move at the moment, Merlin nodded. The photographer sighed gratefully and pushed off his knees. Merlin could see him walking away rubbing the back of his neck and not looking twice at the odd scene on the studio floor.

Arthur’s hand dragged downward without hesitation, without Merlin even able to think about stopping it, and wrapped paint-slick fingers over his half-hard cock. Giving an angelic smile that did not match his hand’s leisurely stroking, Arthur said, “Let’s loosen you up, eh? Give a good performance,” Merlin nearly chocked as he squeezed, “and we’ll see about bringing you back for our next issue. How do you feel about wax, Merlin?”

* * *

**05**

 

"Sonofabitch," Merlin curses, spine curing and stomach muscles cramping with the sheer force of the pleasure coiling hot and heavy in the hang of his balls. 

"Dammit, Arthur, _fuck_ ," he spits out. 

But Arthur doesn't move his mouth. 

His lips are still so pink around the base of Merlin's cock, sealed tight and twitching ever so slightly with the beginnings of a smirk.

That smug bastard. 

His tongue moves on the bottom and a wave of pleasure rocks through him, causing him to cry out and jerk his body as much as possible in the position that he was stuck in--smashed up against the wall, legs tangled up in the thick cord of Arthur’s arms and back and _fuck_ , he’s curved awkwardly so that Arthur’s head is a mop of bright blond hair that is cradled in the bowl of his belly. Merlin’s body is aching, strung too tight with pleasure, with his legs splayed to the mercy of Arthur’s plundering fingers. 

“Ah, fuck _ah_ ,” the puffs of desperate noises coming out of his mouth are embarrassing but he’s moments from crying the pain and pleasure is too fine.

“ _Arthur_ ,” Merlin begs, fingers scrambling and digging into the cord of Arthur’s shoulders. The three fingers buried deep inside of Merlin’s arse wiggle, sopping with lube they make a slippery sound that echoes around the soundtrack of Merlin’s heavy panting. “Arthur, you bastard, just--”

Arthur will never relent. 

His fingers curl, so slowly as they fill Merlin to the brim, until he’s pressing against Merlin’s prostate. 

“Fuck, fuck--”

And keep pressing. 

And keep pressing.

Arthur’s mouth never moves but remains sealed tight around Merlin’s cock, bathing it in the wet warmth of his mouth and hot suction. There’s no fiction though, just oppressive presence of Arthur’s tongue and the hint of teeth every time Merlin’s hips jerk too hard. 

He’ll have bruises from Arthur’s other hand, definitely on his hipbone but possibly over the flat of his lowerback were Arthur shifts and pressing and punishes Merlin with his mouth.

And those fingers.

“Jesus,” but the pressing doesn’t stop and Merlin’s going to lose it. The pleasure is exploding, punching him in the gut and leaving him _heaving_ for breath but Arthur’s mouth doesn’t give and Merlin can feel every pad of his fingers as Arthur presses hard inside of him. It’s not just milking his prostate, it’s brutal pressure that won’t relent and Merlin starts to come on an exhale. 

He can’t get oxygen into his lungs but he can’t be bothered to be worried about his own asphyxiation because he’s coming so hard that he’s crying. There’s a slew of curses tangled with Arthur’s name coming out of his mouth as he jerks, coming inside that hot space of Arthur’s mouth. He can’t make out the words but they’re there, spilling out with a viciousness that mimics the spurt of his cock. 

Merlin can’t see Arthur’s eyes from here but he would place money that they’re dancing.

Arthur’s fingers still keep pressing until Merlin’s body is shaking, tears running down his face and dropping down the bare expanse of Arthur’s back. There’s sweat there but also tracks of Merlin’s fingernails as they scraped and begged down the flesh of Arthur’s shoulders. 

“Enough, fuckArthur, just enough, please,” Merlin pleads, running the sweat and tears on his fingers into the grooves he’s made into Arthur’s shoulders until the press of those fingers finally lets up. 

They don’t stop existing. Arthur’s fingers are still there, curling and waiting like a predator ready to attack, but they’ve stopped their assault. Merlin takes a deep breath and tries to get the shaking and crying under control. He’s so overstimulated, cock still nestled in Arthur’s mouth and arse still well stuffed with his beautiful fingers. 

Merlin puffs out breaths, still curved around Arthur like he’s the one that needs protecting. 

He traces the makes, angry pink, and thinks about how it will be when he can tongue them and feels some measure of victory. For a few seconds. For a few lingering moments. 

Before Arthur’s fingers unfurl, slide out of Merlin and then plunge back in, curling to hit Merlin’s prostate without any mercy.

* * *

**06**

 

Jesus fucking hell. What a day. What a week. What a fucking _month_.

A camping trip as a last hurrah before they sold their souls to the corporate cog had been such a brilliant idea, but here Merlin was, _suffering_.

His balls were swollen and blue. His cock -- _fuck_. His cock had been at half-mast ever since they arrived at this butt-fuck no-cell-reception zone of God's nowhere.

It was a gorgeous location, with rolling hills and snow-capped mountains and rippling lake waters and morning mist and the purple glow of false dawns, but it was all the pretty boys who were doing him in. _God._

They had no idea. _No idea._ It was some sort of orchestrated plan to see who could make Merlin's balls explode.

Merlin stuck his fag in his mouth and squeezed the base of his cock to keep himself from coming too quick. He exhaled a swirling line of grey smoke. His head rolled back and struck the tree trunk with a dull thump. 

There was a splash and a startled, "Who's there?"

 _Fuck_ if Merlin's cock didn't get harder, because that was Arthur's voice. Merlin craned his neck and looked through the trees. Arthur was out of the water naked as the day he was born, looking around. His arms, his legs, his arse --

 _Fuckety fuck fuck fuck_. 

"I know it's you, Merlin. You're the only one who smokes," Arthur said. "Stop being a fucking voyeur."

Merlin took a steadying drag and exhaled out in a defiant cloud of smoke. "Fuck off, you goddamn wanker. Can't a man toss himself off in peace? "

"Come out, Merlin," Arthur said. Merlin peered around the tree trunk and did a double-take. Was that Arthur, stroking himself?

" _Now_ , Merlin," Arthur barked.

Merlin walked out of the woods, cock bobbing. He pinched his cigarette and threw it aside. "Well?"

"Get on your knees," Arthur said. He pointed at a towel near a fallen log.

"What?"

"It's not a wank that you need. It's a good hard fuck," Arthur said. "I'm not going to repeat myself."

Arthur's body was outlined in the early-morning dawn, his cock hard and slick, weeping cum in his strong hand. Merlin's knees went weak at the sight of him. "God, yes."

Merlin scrambled onto his knees, balanced on one arm, and stroked himself a few times in anticipation. He looked over his shoulder and jerked when he felt a slap on his arse.

"Don't. You're not going to come until I tell you, or you're not going to come at all," Arthur said, his voice dangerously low. 

Merlin whimpered. Stopping himself was the worst torture _ever_ , but he was rewarded with Arthur's tongue soaking his hole, Arthur's fingers working him open, Arthur's cock against his entrance and enough spit to make it slide, but not enough slick to ease the burn.

There was just enough time to get used to Arthur's cock in him before Arthur pulled out all the way and thrust all the way back in. Hard.

Merlin grabbed the fallen log for support, his fingernails scratching into the damp wood deep enough to leave marks. There was no apology from Arthur, no pause to check to see if he was okay, and that was _perfect_ because Merlin didn't want one. Didn't need one. Arthur was right. All he needed was a good, hard fuck.

The towel did nothing to protect Merlin's knees from the stony beach. The log barely braced Merlin against the flesh-slapping thrusts. His cock bobbed with every one of Arthur's direct hits on his prostate.

"Nn.. Nnrg... Ar... Arthur... I... I'm gonna --"

"Not yet," Arthur ordered.

"F.. _Fuck_." Merlin tried to think of something to distract him. The sting of the cuts and scrapes on his arms and knees. The rising sun over the horizon. Their friends in the cabin _over there_ , who could walk out any moment.

It was no use. His sight went white, his hole clenched, his cock jerked and pulsed ropes and ropes of come all over the towel, and he was pretty sure that his moan could be hear clear across the lake.

"Shite." 

Merlin winced when Arthur pulled out. Merlin shivered when he felt Arthur's thighs against his, the pump of come smearing on his arse and the small of his back.

He was done for when Arthur whispered a hoarse, husky, "Damn it, Merlin. I'm going to have to teach you how to obey me, aren't I?"

* * *

**07**

The first thing Lancelot notices is his own easy breathing. The air is somehow fresher, brighter, more enlivening than usual. He feels cleansed and renewed, ready for the long day ahead.

It takes him a moment to remember where he is. The sound of water lapping against the shore brings to mind the image of Merlin lying half-dead at the water’s edge, of Merlin slumped over the back of his horse, face frozen in brave terror. His whispered protests of _Arthur_ and _I need to protect him_ and _please_ resound in Lancelot’s mind even now. Struck with a jolt of hot, suffocating dread, he opens his eyes, searching for Merlin, praying the Vilia have upheld their vow to protect and heal him.

He sees Merlin and is filled with conflicting sensations: the warm spread of relief at Merlin’s apparent health, and an urgent pang of arousal, because Merlin is _naked_. He is wading into the water, just visible in the first minutes of sunrise, his perfect round arse a delectable shadow that makes Lancelot nearly groan with the need to bury his face there, to lick and bite and _taste_ Merlin’s delicate skin.

Merlin crouches in the water, which is only as deep as his waist. When he leans down to submerge his head, Lancelot takes the opportunity to roll fully onto his side, relieving the strain on his neck and settling in to watch Merlin bathe, despite the objection of his conscience.

Merlin’s head emerges, and Lancelot hears him suck in a deep breath. The air is still and silent here; it must be the magic of this place. He watches Merlin slide his hands over his skin, scrubbing off the grime of the previous day. When Merlin reaches down between his legs, Lancelot’s breath catches in his throat. Even though he can’t see anything, even though the act is completely innocent, the idea of Merlin’s hand on his cock drives him mad with desire.

Merlin lingers with his right hand cupped around his genitals. Lancelot can just make out the lazy movement of Merlin’s arm. _Oh, god_ , Lancelot realises with a low groan he can’t stifle, his cock swelling. _He’s pleasuring himself_.

Merlin rises to his knees, the water lapping at his narrow thighs, and turns to face the rising sun. Lancelot admires this perfect profile, Merlin’s lovely face upturned towards the sky, his hard cock pulled upward by his steadily moving hand.

Lancelot memorises the way Merlin touches himself, analyses the long, slow strokes and the sudden jerks at the tip, where he thinks Merlin may be brushing a thumb across his slit. He envisions running his tongue there, tasting his fluid, Merlin’s long fingers gripping Lancelot’s hair. He’s wanted it for ages, and he can’t help wishing he were behind Merlin, rutting against the cleft of Merlin’s gorgeous arse, kissing down the long stretch of his neck, his own hands wrapped around Merlin’s cock, keeping him steady as he works his prick just the way he likes it.

Merlin roughly tugs at his cock, and Lancelot catches a gentle moan. As Merlin runs his hand over his shaft, the other hand now brushing a nipple, his moans become louder, more confident, more intense.

Lancelot feels a bead of sweat drip across his brow from the effort of staying completely still and silent. He hardly dares to breathe lest he drown out the soul-rending sounds falling from Merlin’s lips. He imagines holding Merlin down and pressing the blunt head of his cock into Merlin’s arse, pulling those same sounds from him, whispering to him as he moves within—whispers things like _you’re beautiful_ and _forever_ and _only you_.

Merlin has gone stiff, the muscles in his legs and arse seizing up tight, his hand moving ardently over his rigid prick. He’s about to come—Lancelot knows he is, and he wants to see it, wants to experience all that is the zenith of Merlin’s magical existence.

Just as Merlin’s hand slows, he lets out a deep groan of pleasure. Lancelot can’t see him spurting from here, but he can imagine it, can imagine Merlin coating Lancelot’s chest with his release. Between heavy, heart-wrenching moans, Lancelot just makes out Merlin’s broken, _Arthur. Arthur, yes._

Several moments pass, and Merlin stands, his movement languid. Lancelot closes his eyes and lets himself breathe.

Feeling himself drift again, Lancelot thinks of all the things he’d sacrifice for Merlin, deciding that his life will have to be enough.

* * *

**08**

Arthur ran his tongue up Merlin’s calf, his silk stocking pooling around his black Louboutin. “What makes you think you’re qualified for the job?” Arthur asked as he undid the fastenings holding up the second stocking. 

He caressed a sensitive spot behind Merlin’s knee, and Merlin momentarily drew a blank on the English language, too busy soaking in the gorgeous man in front of him. Arthur licked up his thigh to the edge of his skirt. Merlin cleared his throat and tried to ignore the velvet tongue. “Erm, I’m good at…” He broke off and moaned when Arthur’s teeth bit the skin near his groin and sucked hard. “I’m good at committing to projects and seeing them through.”

Arthur’s hand slid up and brushed his erection through his frilly, pink knickers. Merlin squirmed on the desk, wrinkling the paper calendar under his arse. Arthur smirked. “I see. Anything else?”

Merlin was still having trouble focusing, and Arthur’s nose slowly moving up his torso, kissing his silk-covered skin, was a powerful distraction. “I’m dedicated and loyal.” He sucked in a sharp breath when Arthur nipped the underside of his jaw and kissed his adam’s apple. 

“How dedicated? PennTech employees need to go the extra mile.” Merlin felt hot arousal shoot through him when Arthur simultaneously lifted his hips, pushed his skirt up, and tugged his knickers down. 

“Oh god!” Merlin swallowed hard and tried to form a coherent sentence. “Whatever it--” He tried to stifle a loud moan when Arthur’s fist wrapped around his erection and tugged. “Whatever it takes, Mr. Pendragon. Sir.” He felt like a cheap whore, desperate for a fuck, as Arthur reduced him to a writhing puddle of desire. 

Spots swam in his vision, the cincher around his waist making it hard to breathe. He gasped, desperate for air, lungs burning. Arthur sucked the junction of his shoulder and neck, then murmured into his ear, “Why do you want to work for PennTech?” 

Merlin, fuck drunk, ignored the question and reached out to grab the lapels of Arthur’s jacket and pull their bodies together. He undid Arthur’s belt and opened his trousers. 

Arthur’s eyes went wide and dark, and he swatted Merlin’s hand away and pulled his erection out so he could bring their cocks together and wrap his fist around them. “Mmm…I like an employee who takes initiative.” Their erections rubbing together was Nirvana, and Merlin could feel the beginnings of his climax.

His skirt kept falling down over, slowing Arthur’s rhythm. Annoyed, Arthur growled, grabbed his stapler, and stapled the offensive fabric to Merlin’s blouse to keep it from sliding down. Merlin would have objected under normal circumstances, but the tightening of his balls left him inclined to applaud Arthur’s genius, as getting off was more important than his stupid, cock-blocking skirt.

Merlin felt blind to everything except the hand around his dick, so he startled when a cool, wet finger circled the entrance of his arse. “You keep _lube_ at your _desk_?” 

Arthur grinned. “Employees of PennTech should always be prepared.” Merlin forgot his complaints when a slick finger pushed inside of him. He cried out and nearly fell off the desk when Arthur’s finger curved and expertly located his prostate. “Sssh,” Arthur soothed, loosening his tie and stuffing it into Merlin’s mouth. “God, you’re so sexy like this. _Fuck_ ,” his voice was low and broken, “to have you in my office every day, hot and ready whenever I want...” 

He could hear Arthur reaching for something on his desk and _whined_ when he felt the blunt end of a dry erase marker being pushed into his arse. “Mr. Emrys, are you sure you want the job?”

Merlin nodded, desperate, and Arthur worked another marker into his hole. 

Arthur reached up and tugged the tie out of his mouth, caressing his lips with his thumb. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Yes, please, fuck, yes!” He felt dizzy, drunk, and _full_. Arthur squeezed their erections and nudged the markers deeper. Merlin felt his balls draw up and his body shake apart as he came, feeling blissfully debauched. Arthur followed seconds later, and Merlin felt their release over the front of his silk blouse. 

He frowned at Arthur as he dabbed at the mess with his handkerchief. “That’s not helping.”

Arthur had the grace to look sheepish and Merlin leaned forward to kiss his expression away. “Do you interview all potential employees this way?”

Arthur beamed. “Only the ones I’m married to.”

* * *

**09**

The first time was unplanned.

The King of Camelot and his manservant came home from a quest and ended up having an argument. About Arthur always putting himself in danger, and Merlin always putting himself in danger to save Arthur. They used harsh words, not the affectionate insults they usually did. When Arthur grabbed Merlin, the sorcerer thought for a moment that he really had taken it too far this time, but instead of hurting or shaking him, Arthur pulled Merlin against his chest and kissed him hard on the lips.

That turned into another battle.

It was more teeth and tongue than lips, and Arthur ripped Merlin’s shirt without apologising in his hurry to get his manservant naked. Merlin was not sure how they ended up in bed, but he found himself completely naked and flipped on his stomach before Arthur was out of his breeches.

When Merlin complained about being manhandled, Arthur told him he was not going to be buggered by a _servant_ , for God’s sake, that it was definitely below his station to let anyone do that to him.

Apparently though, it wasn’t below his station to lick said servant’s arse which Merlin found out when he first felt Arthur nibbling his lower back, biting his arse cheek and then, _and then!_ , warm hands pulling his cheeks apart, and a tongue on his hole. _In_ his hole. Merlin bit down his fist to keep from moaning and from begging Arthur to give him _more_ , because while Merlin was quite happy to let Arthur do this, he was not going let it be easier than it already was. Arthur’s smugness would be unbearable if he ever heard Merlin _asking_ for his cock.

There were fingers and oil and perhaps stains on the sheets, but to Merlin’s surprise, Arthur flipped him on his back again, before doing anything more.

The look Arthur gave him was heated, almost wild, and there was no way Arthur was imagining Merlin as anyone else. The eyes pierced something inside Merlin, and for a second he thought about all the things he should say. Words like _destiny_ , _same coin_ , and _more important than anything_ danced in his mind, but when he opened his mouth it was only to pull Arthur’s upper lip between his teeth while he pulled Arthur’s hips against him with his foot. 

Merlin was wrapped around Arthur’s body, biting shoulders and neck and lips, and pulling his nails across the skin of the king’s back leaving long, red stripes on it.

Merlin later found blood under his fingernails.

Before long, both of them came apart, but Merlin had no idea how long it had taken them. It felt like seconds; it felt like a lifetime. 

Afterwards they did not talk about it. When they were dressed again, Arthur only spoke to inform Merlin that he had to repair his shirt; Merlin only asked if Arthur would like to bathe now or later.

It was not the last time. Every time it happened it was unplanned and hurried and rough and left Merlin feeling guilty and used and aching. It didn’t stop him from thinking about it while pulling his own cock in the darkness of his room during the nights, though. He thought about all the things he should have said to Arthur, about all the sins he should have confessed.

But there were already too many secrets between them, too many lies, too many things they had wordlessly agreed not to talk about. _Magic_ , _marriage_ , _death_. They never spoke of feelings, they rarely used anything else than insults to describe one another. _Clotpole_ , _idiot_ , _prat_. It was just one more thing on the list.

And sometimes, when they were alone, when they were in danger, or when they wanted to offer comfort to each other, there were looks. Longer than a king should ever give anyone, longer than just friends gave each other. Those looks carried everything they thought and meant and longed to say out loud. _I couldn’t bear to lose you_ , _I believe in you_ , _you’d do the same for me_.

But what was the point of saying aloud things they already knew?

What more could they ever have than they already did?

* * *

**10**

 

Arthur disappears into the bedroom as soon as they get home. Their flat is dark and quiet, dim light from streetlamps and passing cars casting shadows over everything. Merlin stands just inside the front door and looks around, taking in the life the two of them have built over the past three years.

 _Fuck this_ , he thinks. _Fuck all of it._

He imagines saving them both – packing up his stuff, throwing it into a few bags and just walking out, leaving everything behind and forgetting it ever happened. Forgetting Arthur.

His stomach twists into a hot, hollow mess, and he doesn't move.

The light underneath the bedroom door goes out and Merlin stops breathing, closes his eyes. Counts to ten, twenty, sixty. When the door stays shut he opens his eyes and takes a stuttering breath, turns and makes his way to the tiny bathroom. He closes the door behind him but doesn't bother locking it, stripping off his clothes and dropping them onto the floor.

The pack of cigarettes is hidden at the back of a cabinet, kept there for moments like this when Merlin feels like he's going mad. There's a lighter stuffed in with them, and he holds one of the cigarettes between his lips as he lights the end, dragging in a deep lung-full of the acrid smoke.

He tosses the pack of cigarettes and the lighter back into the cabinet and reaches up to open the small, high window above the toilet. The night air is hot and heavy, and Merlin sits on the closed toilet seat, bringing his cigarette up for another drag.

His dick is rock-hard; it has been since earlier at Morgana's dinner party when Arthur had dug his fingernails sharply into Merlin's arm and whispered for him to _shut the fuck up_. It hadn't come as a surprise; Merlin had been pushing him to it all night.

Merlin reaches down and grips himself tightly, strokes almost painful. There would be no teasing, no lead in, just getting off and going to bed. His head falls back, eyes closing and cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. A low moan escapes, and he quickly loses himself in the movement of his hand.

The door suddenly slams open and Merlin jumps, letting go of his dick. Ashes from the cigarette fall, scattering over the floor, but the only thing he can see is the hard, knowing expression on Arthur's face. They stare at each other for several moments and Merlin's heart pounds against his ribcage. 

It isn't fear he's feeling.

Arthur stalks over to him, plucks the cigarette from Merlin's lips and tosses it into the sink. His hand buries into Merlin's hair and yanks hard, pulling him off the toilet and onto the floor. Merlin's knees hit the linoleum and he sucks in a sharp breath, hands curling into fists. He doesn't move.

Arthur's free hand cups his jaw, almost gentle, and his thumb curls into Merlin's mouth, pulling down until Merlin feels the joint pop.

"Get it out," Arthur says, and Merlin reaches up to tug Arthur's pajama bottoms down.

He wastes no time shoving his hard cock into Merlin's waiting mouth, tip hitting the back of his throat. Merlin struggles not to gag, choking slightly as Arthur sets up a hard, unforgiving pace. His eyes begin to water and he closes them, letting himself fall into it, digging his fingernails into his thighs because he hasn't been told he can touch.

Arthur fucks his face relentlessly, fingers twisted painfully into Merlin's hair to hold him in place. His thumb is still hooked into Merlin's mouth, slick with spit, and Merlin's jaw aches and his knees hurt but he could do this for the rest of his life.

Arthur suddenly pulls out, grunting softly, and a stripe of come lands across Merlin's tongue. Some hits his cheek and slides down his face, and Arthur lets go of his hair to grip himself, continuing to hold Merlin's mouth open. As soon as he's finished he removes his thumb, and Merlin opens his eyes to look up at him as he swallows the come in his mouth.

"Clean up," Arthur says, not meeting his eyes as he tugs his pajamas up over his hips. "Come to bed. Don't touch yourself."

Merlin bites back a frustrated groan, waiting on his knees until Arthur turns and walks out. When he's alone he slowly pushes himself up, legs trembling, and starts the shower.

* * *

**11**

“Hmm?” Merlin’s eyes fluttered open to sight of Arthur and Gwaine standing over him, wearing scarily similar smirks. On a normal day it would have been enough to startle him wide awake and ready to run for his life, but it was such a nice morning with the sun shining that all Merlin really wanted to do was go back to his nap in the grass.

Unfortunately for Merlin’s nap, Arthur and Gwaine had other plans. “Good afternoon, sunshine!” Gwaine chimed. “Having a nice time?”

“Yeah, just great, thanks,” Merlin yawned. “Did you guys want something?”

“You can’t possibly be comfortable sleeping like that,” Arthur said.

“Like… what, exactly?”

Arthur gestured, indicating Merlin’s shorts. “Sleeping in your clothes like that. You should probably take them off.”

“What?” Merlin opened his eyes all the way to try and assess Arthur’s seriousness, and realized with a jolt that Gwaine seemed to have taken Arthur’s advice, as while he and Arthur didn’t have shirts on due to the summer heat, Gwaine wasn’t wearing anything at all. Merlin gulped.

“Yes,” Arthur mused, “But you’re obviously too much of an idiot to do it yourself, so we’ll just have to help. What do you think, Gwaine?”

“Anything to help a friend,” Gwaine said with a wide grin.

Merlin got out a “What the hell…” before the two other boys pounced. Arthur grabbed Merlin’s hands and pulled, just as Gwaine tilted Merlin’s hips to pull down his shorts, giving Merlin a dizzying feeling of vertigo as he was lifted up into the air.

“Relax, Merlin,” Arthur said, laughing at Merlin’s wide eyes. “We’ve got you, haven’t we, Gwaine.”

“Oh, yeah,” Gwaine said. Merlin glanced down his body and went slightly pink at the way Gwaine was blatantly leering at Merlin’s now exposed half-hard cock. “No problems. None at all.” He licked his lips. “God, Merlin, can I…”

“What?” Merlin glanced up at Arthur, who was grinning down at him.

“Go on,” Arthur urged, holding on tighter to Merlin’s arms. “Let him, we’ve got you. We won’t let you fall.”

This was too good to be true. “Okay, do it,” Merlin said quickly, before the other boys changed their minds. Gwaine gave a blinding grin and pulled Merlin’s legs so that he was supporting them with his shoulders. While he was doing that, Arthur’s dog Cafall wandered over to see what all the fuss was about.

Merlin gave a breathy giggle as Cafall licked his face, then gasped as Gwaine’s tongue imitated the dog’s, only on his cock. Just light, teasing little licks, but the wetness his tongue left behind chilled quickly in the crisp spring air. “ _God_.” Merlin squirmed in the air, held in place by Arthur’s strong arms. “Gwaine, quit teasing already!”

Gwaine glanced up at Arthur, and receiving a nod that he could go on with it, leaned down and simply swallowed Merlin to the root.

“Ohgod!” Merlin’s hips bucked up in the air at the feeling of being so deeply sunk into the heat of Gwaine’s throat. Gwaine continued sucking, moaning around Merlin’s cock as Merlin continued to try and thrust up helplessly. He fingers dug into where they were wrapped around Arthur’s tanned arms, holding him up off the ground, and he nearly choked on the combination of moans and laughter tumbling out of his throat. “This is… so… fucking… weird…”

“But good weird?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, yea - _oh_ , Gwaine, do that aga-ain…” Merlin lost the use of his voice for a while as Gwaine set to work sucking Merlin’s brains out through his cock. After a while Cafall lost interest and wandered away, and Merlin almost missed the licks to his face until Arthur bent over and started kissing him. Oh yeah, this was much better.

It wasn’t long until Merlin gave one last strangled gasp and stiffened, Gwaine and Arthur clutching at the lithe body as he twisted in midair, his come decorating his stomach and even getting in Gwaine’s hair. They let him hang there for a second before lowering him back down onto the sun-warmed grass.

“Okay,” Merlin panted after a moment, “If that’s what I get for it, I’m taking a nap every day for the rest of the summer.” Gwaine and Arthur just laughed at him.

* * *

**12**

There was a ritual for binding a demon to a mortal, to force that demon to obey the will of one single person and have the demon's life tied to the human's.

Arthur had learned of it through the books passed down by his family, that long line of Pendragon demon hunters, and he had vowed he would never use it. "Deals with devils will only get you burned," his father had always said.

Now it was either use the ritual, or let Merlin -- how did Merlin turn out to be an incubus anyway -- die a slow death.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said as he painted another black line across Merlin's body. 

"Stop, please," Merlin begged, but he was too weak to fight Arthur off; the most he managed was to cover his naked cock with his hands. The gash across his shoulder was bleeding heavily, a mixture of dark demon blood and incubus magic.

"I'm not going to let you die."

When the lines were done, Arthur stepped back, outside the circle of blood, and stripped his clothes off. He noticed Merlin's eyes widen and his mouth open slightly. Good. If he was still hungry, he could still be saved.

Naked, Arthur carefully approached Merlin again and straddled his hips. "This is for your own good."

Merlin struggled against the kiss at first, trying to cling to that mock humanity he'd worn so well, but it was a losing battle. Arthur felt it the moment Merlin gave in to his demon nature: the kiss deepened, Merlin's tongue joined his own, and there was that faint tug on his life energy that was so common around demons.

 _Take it all_ , Arthur thought. _I'm not losing you._

When Arthur pulled away, he saw that some color had returned to Merlin's face, and his eyes were glowing gold. 

"Your taste--" Merlin moaned and brought two arms around Arthur's back, dug his nails in, raked them down Arthur's back. 

Arthur groaned. "So I've been told."

All his life he'd been trained to recognize the signs of demon's feeding off of him; he knew the ways to keep his vital energy in check, he knew how to poison the being trying to eat from his soul. It went counter to his training to allow the syphoning of energies.

Yet it didn't stop a sweet pleasure make its way down his spine. The power of incubus saliva -- one of the only true aphrodisiacs in the world. No wonder people fell to incubi so easily.

Arthur rolled his hips, pressing himself against Merlin's growing erection, which was already wet with -- well, not precome, but the incubus equivalent of it. 

"Don't--" Merlin started to say, but counter to his words he pulled Arthur into another kiss and thrust his cock between Arthur's ass cheeks. "I've resisted you for so long. Why are you doing this?" Merlin's voice was hoarse when he asked.

"Because I..." Arthur stopped himself before he could finish that sentence. This wasn't the right moment for it. Instead, he lined himself up and sank down onto Merlin's cock, hissing at the pain and thankful for those demonic secretions that eased the passage.

That seemed to break the last hold Merlin had over himself; his movements turned wild and hungry, and with every kiss he sucked out more and more of Arthur's life.

It was fascinating to watch the wound on Merlin's shoulder heal, using Arthur's energy for it. If this went on for too long, Arthur could see himself fall into the lust completely and forget the true purpose of this ritual.

He bit down hard on his lip, until he bled, then kissed Merlin. Incubus instincts had Merlin kissing back almost immediately, sucking at Arthur's lip, drinking in the blood. 

Then Merlin started convulsing. "What--"

"I'm sorry, Merlin. But you're mine now."

Arthur took in Merlin's seed, Merlin took in Arthur's blood. Tied together now, until one of them died.

Arthur didn't intend to let Merlin die before him.

* * *

**13**

Gwaine wandered out of the cabin in nothing but a swim cap. He figured it was one thing to go skinny dipping, it was another entirely to subject his hair to lake water. He wasn’t usually much of a morning person, but with everyone else sleeping where they passed out last night, he wanted to take advantage of some alone time before the rest of Arthur’s guests got familiar with their hangovers.

He stretched, and made his way down to the dock, where a small inflatable motorboat was moored. He could see someone’s clothes and shoes scattered like a breadcrumb trail towards the water. Apparently he wasn’t the only person that thought skinnydipping was a brilliant idea, and by the time he got to the dock he could see bare feet propped up on the bow. He’d recognize the lime-green painted toe nails anywhere.

He walked down the short ramp that served as the Pendragon family dock, and pulled gently on one of Elena’s toes. Of course it was Elena. She would be the one to leave her clothes strewn on the beach and be asleep in a boat wearing only her bra and panties.

“Hey babe, come swim with me,” he said, as she woke up and gave him a sleepy smile.

“You’re naked,” she replied.

“You’re not. You should fix that.”

“Nuh uh, it’s too early to be up. Come sleep with me.” She made a grasping hands gesture. He couldn’t deny her anything, so he climbed in the boat. As soon as they were both comfortable, Elena wrapped her hand around his cock.

“I thought you wanted to sleep,” he said with a gasp.

“Mmmm, I can sleep like this.” she said, pumping her hand slowly, her thumbnail barely scraping his slit. He huffed a laugh.

“I want to eat you out.”

She gave him a sleepy-eyed pout. “No Gwaine, I’m comfortable, I don’t want to get out of the boat yet.”

“I can do it here.” He gave her his best trust me face, but judging by her reaction she didn’t believe him at all.

“If you capsize us, I’m telling Morgana you’re the one that stole her conditioner.”

“Slander and lies, Lancelot donated it to orphans.” He raised himself up on his elbow to give him enough leverage to lean over her and kiss her, barely on the corner of her mouth, before trailing kisses down her chin and neck to the soft skin of her collarbone. “Please,” he breathed into her shoulder.

Her grip on his neck was insistent, pulling him back up to face her. She brought her mouth to his for another kiss, deep this time. When she pulled away she gave him a puzzled look. “Why are you still wearing this thing?” She said, snapping the edge of the swimcap.

“You’re going to think it’s awesome in a minute,” Gwaine promised. “Scoot around so you lean back on the prow.” He made room for her as she moved and then she was in front of him with her knees up.

Reaching for her hips, she canted them upwards, so he could pull her panties down and away. They laughed as he tossed them back over his shoulder, maybe they’d land on the dock, and maybe they’d land in the water and float away for one of their friends to find later.

Gwaine braced his elbows as best he could, feeling the slight give of the water thought the bottom of the boat. He felt particularly proud of himself for the idea to wear a swim cap while going down on her. It kept his hair out of the way and he could see her over the rise of her belly. Her eyes were shut tight and she kept reaching out for him, to grab his hair, and realizing she couldn’t, her hands were restless. She gasped out short panting breaths as he worked his tongue into her cunt.

He gripped her hips tight, holding her still, laughing as he tongued her clit. She swore colorfully under her breath, calling him names and demanding more, harder, to the left. Gwaine snorted, complying with tongue and teeth until Elena came with a shout that echoed across the lake.

He moved slowly up her body and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I didn’t capsize us” he said as he nuzzled her ear. Elena didn’t open her eyes.

“Mmmm I think I can go back to sleep now,” she said.

* * *

**14**

Merlin is pushed back against the locker room wall with his gym shorts around his ankles and Gwaine's hand on his dick and he is almost entirely sure he's dead.

He still doesn't know what on earth possessed Mr. Pendragon, the P.E. teacher, to think archery was a necessary part of their curriculum. "What, are we some day going to be called upon to defend Albion High from siege attack and find ourselves thinking, _Well, thank God I know my way around a bow and arrow_?" he'd whispered to Gwen in line for their equipment. She'd shrugged, patted his shoulder, and said, "Just keep your eye on the target, yeah?"

He knew it was all going to end in disaster, and that's the only reason he can think of for how he could possibly be here, now, clinging to Gwaine — _Gwaine,_ of all people, Lord High Jock of all the jocks — while his teeth nip Merlin's ear and his groan sends shivers rippling down Merlin's spine.

He's dead. There's been some horrible accident and he's lying on the field probably bleeding from the head, and this is just one last, amazing fantasy that his dying brain has concocted to send him off.

"Your _hands_ , Jesus _Christ_ ," Merlin growls as Gwaine slides them under his gym shirt, callused fingers tracing his ribs and finding Merlin's nipples like they belong there. And that's where this all started, really, with Merlin taking his eyes from the target like an idiot and seeing Gwaine, standing tall like some Greek god, one hand drawing the string back to his ear while the other gripped the shaft of the bow. Merlin had had a sudden flash of what Gwaine's fingers might look like wrapped around an entirely different sort of shaft, and that's when he'd gone light-headed and had to be sent to the school nurse, because _really_ , he knew better than to try to handle a bow when his palms were all sweaty.

"Merlin," Gwaine moans against the side of his throat, and Merlin wants to see, wants to know if the sight of his fingers on Merlin's cock is anything like what he imagined it, but Gwaine keeps stroking and Merlin's eyes keep rolling back and he can't ever quite manage it. Really, though, who the hell is he to complain? "You're not hopeless. There's no trick to playing sports, anyone can. You just have to focus."

He can't, he can't, he _can't_ , not when Gwaine is taking him apart like this, piece by piece, ripping him open and shining the light on all those secret desires Merlin's kept to himself for four long years.

"Your hands shake when you're nervous."

They're trembling like pennants in a windstorm now. He can't stop. He wants this so much.

"Look at me." Gwaine's voice is suddenly sharp, and he's drawing back, drawing _away_. Merlin makes a broken noise and grabs at him. " _Look_."

Merlin forces his eyes open, gasping. And this — this is how he knows he's not dead. Because Gwaine is looking at him the way he did the target on the field earlier, eyes narrowed with a hunter's intensity. It's a look that says _You're mine, and I will have you_ , and this must be real because there is no way even in his wildest fantasies that Merlin would have ever imagined that Gwaine would turn that look on _him._

Gwaine cups the back of his neck and draws him in. His hips press forward, his cock hard in Merlin's hand. Their eyes are open and their mouths slick and Merlin shudders, holding Gwaine's gaze as he strokes through his jeans. A shock goes through Merlin and everything stills inside him. The only sound is the rasp of his breath and the beat of his heart and Gwaine's own unsteady gasps.

Merlin draws him out and wraps his fingers around Gwaine's girth. His hands are rock steady. The corners of Gwaine's eyes crease as he grins into the kiss. "Yes," he says. "Just like that. Good lad."

That would be reward enough right there, that light and that warmth. But then Gwaine's moving, a flurry of hands and kisses, pressing Merlin back against the lockers and grinding against him. When he strokes, Merlin becomes the bow, his back arching, trembling in Gwaine's grip. And when Merlin comes, painting stripes across his stomach, it's Gwaine who led him there and Gwaine who brings him back down.

* * *

**15**

Gwaine was a whirlwind, a gravitational force, a congenial flurry of movement and ideas that drew people in and held them close despite his many vices, and his fleeting virtues. Like many others, Merlin had been collected, pulled into Gwaine’s weird orbit and Merlin was happy to be there, spinning out of control, charmed by a rakish grin and the promise of nights tangled together, utterly besotted by laughing brown eyes and a kissable mouth.

So it wasn’t out of the ordinary when Gwaine leaned in, draped himself over Merlin’s back, his voice a shivery breath in Merlin’s ear, his cock buried deep in Merlin’s arse, his grip certain to leave bruises on Merlin’s hips as he slowly rocked in and out, and gasped, “Fuck, Merlin. So beautiful like this. Fuck, I want to paint you.”

Merlin shivered, lost in a haze of pleasure from the delicious roll of Gwaine’s hips and his sure hand stripping Merlin’s already leaking cock and Merlin would have agreed to anything if it meant _more_ and _harder_. As it was, a litany of _fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes_ tumbled from Merlin’s mouth as Gwaine fucked him, pounded in relentless until they both shuddered and came, collapsing in a sweaty heap.

Merlin didn’t know he had promised anything, chalking the statement up to Gwaine’s usual bedroom endearments, until Gwaine phoned him a week later and invited Merlin to his art studio.

Merlin obliged and was greeted by Gwaine wearing only a pair of ripped and paint-splattered shorts. He kissed Merlin hello, filthily, hands skimming under Merlin’s shirt while he guided Merlin to a clear plastic tarp in the middle of the floor.

“Thank you for coming,” Gwaine whispered into Merlin’s mouth. “I’ve been thinking about this for days.”

A jolt of anticipation went through Merlin and any reservations he had about whatever Gwaine had planned were lost in the feel of Gwaine’s eager tongue in his mouth. Merlin allowed Gwaine to divest him of his shirt and when Gwaine fumbled with Merlin’s zip, his hands trembling as he peeled the fabric down Merlin’s thighs, Merlin knew Gwaine was nervous and excited.

“Lie there,” Gwaine gasped.

The plastic was cool against Merlin’s body and his nipples hardened immediately as he spread out on his stomach, the smell of plastic and paint sharp in his nose. Gwaine straddled him, settled on the backs of his thighs. His warm palm smoothed down the length of Merlin’s spine, gentling him.

“Relax.”

Merlin melted into the tarp, rested his cheek on his forearms, submitted to being Gwaine's canvas.

The first drop of paint fell between his shoulder blades and he gasped at the cool sensation, squirmed as it rolled down his back, dripped over his side and down the sensitive skin of his ribs.

“Fucking beautiful,” Gwaine murmured.

The drops came in rapid succession then, followed by Gwaine’s hands, fingers rubbing and painting Merlin’s skin, the back of his neck, his shoulders, the swell of his arse. Merlin couldn’t see, but he could hear Gwaine’s breath stuttering as he added more color, could feel Gwaine’s cock hardening, could hear the endearments drip like splatters of paint from his mouth. Merlin had never felt more adored, more beautiful.

Merlin’s cock had swelled and he knew Gwaine could feel the tiny jerks of his hips as he sought friction, the plastic maddeningly smooth and slick beneath him.

Gwaine moved between Merlin’s spread legs. “Touch yourself.”

Merlin braced himself on one arm, arched his back, the paint now tacky and drying, pulling on his skin as he moved, rivulets still slowly rolling down his sides into the creases of his body, but he didn’t care as he snuck his other hand down to jerk his aching cock.

He felt Gwaine part his cheeks, felt the tip of a thumb against his hole before it was replaced with a hot, wet tongue. Merlin moaned, wanton and low as Gwaine laved at his hole, enthusiastically fucked him with his tongue. Merlin knew he couldn’t last long, not with the warring sensations of cool paint and Gwaine’s warm mouth eating him out. He came, shouting, trembling, come splashing over the tarp.

Merlin slumped onto the plastic, sated, not caring about the mess below or above him.

He felt Gwaine move again, heard his deep, breathy moans, and the familiar, rhythmic slip-slide of a cock fucking a fist, then felt Gwaine’s warm come splash on his back and mix with the drying paint.

* * *

**16**

Percival was feeling quite drunk, but not too drunk to realize that this was actually happening. Merlin was sitting in his lap. In a bra, lipstick, and… were those stockings? He began to feel a bit alarmed, and tried to push Merlin gently away, ever the gentleman, but Merlin stopped him with a surprisingly-strong hand.

“Put your hands on me,” he said, slowly grinding onto Percival’s stiffening cock. “I want you to. Arthur wants you to.”

It was only then that Percival noticed Arthur sitting coolly in a corner of the room, his eyes dark, palm rubbing circles on the crotch of his jeans. 

“Make him come, Merlin.” Arthur sounded commanding, lusty. It gave him an involuntary shiver.

“Mmmhm.”

Merlin smiled, his lips a garish red. Yet they suited his plush, cock-sucking lips. Percival had a fleeting thought that he really shouldn’t be thinking of his friend this way, but his limits were being sorely tested.

Merlin leaned over to kiss him, smearing the colour over both their mouths, his tongue insistently pushing at Percival’s mouth till he gave in. Their hands came around each other and the tight, hot friction of the nylon stockings on his bare cock was a shocking stimulation that made him groan, the sound guttural in his throat.

To his left, Arthur had his jeans around his knees, one hand cradling his balls, the other slowly thumbing the slit of his fully-erect cock. 

It was surreal, to say the least.

“I want your cock,” Merlin said, and reached under a pillow to retrieve a condom. He ripped it open, holding the foil packet with his clenched jaw, mouth ruined and red and _stark_ against the white of his teeth. Then he slipped it on, fingers brushing against Percival’s balls, hovering a little too long for it to be entirely by accident.

“Or perhaps your balls,” he said. And promptly bent down to suck softly at the skin where it had drawn up, tight. Percival could only gasp as his fingers clenched on the bedsheets, struggling valiantly not to give in to the urge of fisting his hands in Merlin’s hair.

Arthur, who had been mostly silent up till now, got up abruptly and clambered onto the bed. He held Merlin’s stockinged calves and pulled them apart, and then pulled down the elastic band of both his panties and stockings slowly, catching on his cock, the fabric wet with patches of pre-come. With a sudden, quick tug, Merlin’s cock sprung out, and he moaned around Percival’s balls, causing vibrations which made his head spin. 

The heat in the room was stifling. The air was pungent with the smell of sex, the sound of the slick slide of fingers loud, slippery with lube over their pricks. They had changed positions, Percival thrusting into Merlin’s tight heat in an odd staccato.

Merlin’s stockings had been pulled down to his ankles earlier, and Percival palmed his freshly-shaved thighs curiously. It was hairless, like a girl’s legs, and it made him flush to know that Merlin had… prepared for this. He didn’t actually understand why this was happening, but he was fond of Merlin, and all of them were consensual, so he allowed himself to go along with it.

“Your cock feels so thick and good in me,” Merlin said, body shaking like a leaf. 

“Your mouth, Merlin…” Percival mumbled, embarrassed, though he couldn’t deny it was an incredible turn-on as well. 

He turned to look at Arthur, who came over to occasionally position Merlin and whisper soft encouragements to him, but otherwise kept to his corner, jeans off now. He was pulling languidly at his cock, his eyes seemingly focused on the way Merlin’s greedy arse took Percival’s in. It was disconcerting, but the crawling feeling of being watched somehow made him want to perform better, make Merlin cry out louder.

With that thought, he angled himself with every hard thrust. Merlin was wailing now, pulling on his cock with almost painfully-fast speed until he juddered and came, strands of white, milky come spattering all over his stomach and bra. Percival came not long after, gripping Merlin’s hips with a force that left angry, red marks. 

Shortly after, a soft groan sounded from Arthur’s corner. 

“Happy birthday, Merlin,” Arthur said softly. Merlin beamed.

* * *

**17**

She dresses in black leather before she goes out, but it's only once she reaches the club that she adds the cat ears and settles into the easy grace of the predator. Of the dozen guys watching her, she singles out her victim right away. Rich boy looks like he hasn't been taken down in way too long, maybe not ever. Freya smiles.

*

She was on her way here when she met Merlin last month. Two assholes on the subway were giving her shit about her short skirt and knee-high boots, and Freya was just about ready to show them her knife when this skinny, pretty, and apparently unarmed kid stood up and said, "Guys, that's enough."

 _The fuck_ , Freya thought, he has no idea what he's getting into. But somehow it worked. The guys laughed, called him a few names, but he just stared at them with a weird, calm little smile until they subsided into, "Jeez, can't even take a fucking joke."

He nodded at her once, like he hadn't just done magic in front of her, and went back to reading his book.

She got off two stops early so she could follow him, tap his shoulder, and offer to buy him a drink. 

*

"What's your name, boy?" she says when she gets him alone.

"Arthur." 

"Oh, perfect. Take off your shirt, there's a pretty princess. Quickly now – when I get impatient things get torn."

He hesitates, she tugs, and a button goes flying. Then she takes in the sight of him: blond and baby-faced, broad and built, like something out of her mom's porn. Nice.

She reaches over his shoulder and drags her nails up his back. He sucks in deep breaths as she rests her curled hand on his shoulder and hisses, "Do you like pussy, Princess?"

" _Yes_. I – mistress? What's your – what should I call you?"

"Call me monster, and tell me how much you like it. Better yet, show me."

* 

She never made it to the club that night. After four hours of coffee and conversation they called a cab. "My roommate's away this weekend," said Freya. "Want to come up?" said Freya. 

"No thanks." He smiled and waved goodnight. _Weirdo._

Three days later he invited her for a walk in the botanical gardens.

On their third date they bought vegetables at the farmers market and he talked about wanting to live in the country. Freya had to laugh – was he going to want to get married before he ever got around to fucking her?

On the fourth date he kissed her, and when he drew away she caught a tear falling down his cheek.

Freya's used to making men cry. Get them to beg and then tell them no. Find out what they _really_ want.

But this boy, this beautiful boy truly wants to hold her hand. And God help her, right now she just wants to tell him yes.

She finds herself going soft around him: quiet words, shy smiles. She borrows Gwen's purple dress and practices her mannerisms in the mirror: bowing her head, biting her lip. 

What a fucking _rush_ , turning herself into a nice girl for this nice boy. She hasn't felt so free and powerful in years, since she started sharpening her claws and spreading her wings in the night.

The monster can make herself new any time she wants. She can even be this.

*

"Take your dick out. I want to know whether you're even worth my time."

Arthur is, she decides: hard and thick and eager, struggling to keep from thrusting forward into his own hand. 

"Hands behind your back," she barks, and then purrs, " _Let go_ , you greedy slut."

The flush on his cheeks is as lovely as the jerk of his cock. Yes, she thinks happily, Freya is still this too.

*

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me."

"Of course there are," says Merlin.

He buys her flowers, chocolates and strawberries. He lights candles in his bedroom. 

"Is this okay?" he asks, rocking his hardness against her through the layers of fabric they haven't taken off.

"It's okay, it's okay," she chants. "It's okay, it's perfect."

*

"May I, Monster?"

"No." She slaps his hands away. "Just your mouth for now." She'll take his cock later, but he doesn't need to know that. She lifts her skirt and grabs his head, pushes her cunt against his hot tongue.

"Good boy," she says, "that's just how I like it, that's good."

* * *

**18**

He sits at the back because that’s where he started out once, tagging along with the birthday boy, interested in celebrating only; now Merlin hasn’t missed a performance in months. Her voice isn’t perfect, a shade too heavy, but once she’s on stage, it’s impossible to look away.

He sits at the back, because then at least she won’t glare at him the _whole_ time; it’s always like that, ever since Merlin has proven he’s the only person capable of tripping over someone else’s evening dress. After, she’ll smile at everyone and scowl at him, which is his cue to buy her a drink. 

She has too strong a jawline underlining an irresistibly pouty red mouth. She doesn’t talk much about herself; Merlin tells her everything, punctuated by her snarky comments and bracketed by her smirks. He gives as good as he gets; he doesn’t remember the last time he had so much fun before he met her. 

She gives away more than she means to in her eagerness to scoff at him. He’s sure she does something in business, which surprises him, and that the club belongs to her father, which surprises him even more. Mostly, he learns to read the nuances of her tone, the tired lines of her face.

He never gives her flowers like some do. He doesn’t tell her Saturdays are the highlight of his week, because then he’ll have to think too much about this, though mostly because he suspects she might never speak to him again. So he walks away, every time, and just lets himself grin at the ceiling, feeling hot all over, when he lies in alone in his bed after their evenings together.

Except sometimes, when he’s very, very lucky, and she’s too tired or too pleased, he gets to touch her. Well, almost. What it comes down to is that she will shove him down on some surface somewhere not entirely public and fuck herself on his cock, muttering _shut up, shut up, shut up_ and making Merlin feel like he will burst with sheer want. It’s really rather unfair: Merlin usually ends up shirtless with his slacks somewhere around his ankles, and she will take off her stockings almost primly, step back into her high-heeled pumps, and straddle him with her dress draped over them. 

Merlin wants to touch her everywhere: run his fingers over her heavily made up face, mouth at the solid thighs he sometimes catches a glimpse of, even though they probably shouldn’t turn him on as much as they do; he knows her breasts aren’t real, but he still wants to feel them, or maybe burrow underneath them to suck on her nipples.

But she pins him down, and he doesn’t think about how she shouldn’t be able to do that. She snaps at him when he tries to reach out, _Do I need to fucking tie you down?_ , rude as she otherwise never is, and it sends a jolt through him.

He always fights her, can’t help himself, tries to bury his face in her neckline where she smells so nice. The first time, he thought he’d ruined it, but now he rather thinks she likes it, even as she pulls on his hair and pinches his nipples in retribution, and Merlin moans too loudly in the shabby dressing room.

Sometimes, she’ll climb off him after and turn her back to him; lately, she’ll grope herself through her dress and make it go wet all through, while Merlin stares and stares. Except.

Except last week, when she looked so exhausted, and she let him struggle against the grip of her hand and kiss her for too long before moving on, and after, after, she came all over his stomach. For a moment, she rubbed it into his skin, before stumbling off him, rubbing her mouth tiredly, looking away; it felt strange but mostly it made Merlin’s heart beat too loudly. 

Merlin thinks he’s tired, too, tired of waiting for he doesn’t know what, tired of being afraid, tired of missing her when she’s reduced to the ache of healing scratches on his back during the week.

She always gives away more of herself than she intends to, and it’s surprisingly easy to track her down. The sun is as just as kind to the golden, shorter hair, and dress trousers do wonders for those thighs. 

He takes a deep breath, steps forward, stretches out his hand, says, “Hello, Arthur,” and lets everything happen.

* * *

**19**

Morgana sighed, rubbing her temples. “ _Next_!” she snapped.

The door opened, and Merlin ushered in the next model. “I’m sure you’ll like this one,” he said brightly.

“You said that the last three times,” Morgana said, glaring at him. She eyed the newest model warily. If this one so much as giggled, snorted, or pouted like the others, Morgana would have Merlin’s head.

Merlin held up his hands defensively. “This time I mean it,” he insisted. He nodded to the model, who smiled shyly back at him. “This is Freya.” 

“All right,” Morgana said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Freya nodded almost imperceptibly and walked to the bed. All traces of shyness gone, she positioned herself in front of the camera and disrobed, but instead of looking at the lens, she kept her gaze steadily on Morgana. 

Morgana looked her over critically: pale skin and dark hair to contrast against the colours, good. Smooth shoulders, broad back curving into a small waist and slim hips for enough of a canvas to work with, better. Breasts not too full, enough of an arse to show the camera the shape of her curves, excellent.

“I suppose you’ll do for now,” Morgana told her brusquely, and stepped behind the camera to adjust the lens with unsteady fingers.

*

Freya didn’t flinch once, even as Merlin dripped hot candle wax onto her back. She kept remarkably calm, never taking her eyes away from Morgana while she worked.

Morgana squinted through the lens and adjusted the focus once more, digging her nails into her palms in frustration. The play of coloured wax was supposed to be the focal point of the shot, but Morgana couldn’t concentrate, her gaze drawn away from the vivid colours to Freya’s face instead. 

Freya looked back at Morgana serenely, motionless as Merlin added more layers of wax to her back. 

“Like this?” Merlin asked, drizzling a few more drops of the crimson.

Morgana bit her lip as she watched the wax slide slowly down Freya’s back. Morgana stepped from behind the camera and strode to the bed, feeling Freya’s gaze follow her movements. She took the crimson candle gently from Merlin’s hands, switching it for the royal blue. Her arm paused in the air, waiting, as the candle flame flickered.

A hint of a smile appeared on Freya’s face as she looked up at Morgana. 

“No, like this,” Morgana said, not looking away, and flicked the wax expertly onto Freya’s pale skin. 

Freya, who had remained still for hours during the set-up, let out a quiet gasp, arching her back in pleasure. 

“Merlin—” Morgana began, her voice rough.

“—is leaving, yeah,” Merlin finished for her, and ducked quickly out of the room.

Freya smiled up at her again as the door closed. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that for hours,” she said, the first words Morgana heard her speak.

Morgana stared down at the dark eyes that had haunted her all afternoon. She took Freya firmly by the shoulders, rolling her over onto her back—ruining all of the afternoon’s work—and kissed her. 

Freya sighed softly against her lips as Morgana glided her hands down the textured surface of Freya’s back, feeling the wax crackle and bend underneath her fingers. Morgana trailed her mouth and lips against Freya’s breasts, closing her mouth around a nipple, hearing Freya gasp again. She skimmed the curves of Freya’s shoulders, waist, hips, breasts, and arse: all the parts that her painter’s eye had seen, that her hands had ached to touch. 

Morgana breathed in, savouring the lingering hint of smoke in the air mixed with scent of their arousal, and put her mouth between Freya’s legs, sliding her tongue into the taste of seawater and heat.

*

“I knew you’d like her,” Merlin said smugly when Morgana had finally called him back into the room. He paused and looked at his watch. “But what are we going to do about the shoot?”

Morgana rolled onto her back and pulled Freya on top of her, tangling their wax-covered bodies and dark hair together. Freya giggled, but Morgana couldn’t find it in her to mind. Instead, she looked pointedly at the camera, then at Merlin challengingly. “You’ve been my assistant long enough—you _do_ know how to work that thing, right?” she asked him.

Grinning, Merlin stepped behind the camera to line up the shot.

* * *

**20**

There isn’t an inch of Arthur that’s clean. There isn’t even a spot of exposed skin, except maybe his eyelids, that’s not covered in mud. It’s striped across his naked abdomen, gouged into the lines of muscle there like sword wounds. It has plastered his matted hair to his forehead in the shape of a helmet in dirty brown, and it drips in clumps that land with dull thunks onto his knees.

Arthur sits in the middle of his room, broad shoulders hunched, the tendons in his neck strained. Both elbows rest to the filth-caked cloth at his thighs. Though his shirt was torn off during the fistfight after his joust, he still wears his ripped, sopping trousers and his scraped leather boots. There is a puddle that surrounds his chair; Merlin thinks he will be blamed for this later, for allowing Arthur to sit there in such a state.

The mood is tenuous at best as Merlin steps into the bedroom. It’s been like this since well before Arthur left for the rain-soaked jousting tournament this morning. Arthur does not look at him, but Merlin knows he’s aware of his presence by the shift in his posture, how every muscle stiffens in response to Merlin’s telltale footsteps. The storm outside will not cease, a crash of thunder sounding the lightning that brightens the otherwise darkened room, illuminating Arthur in shadowed relief before he is drenched in darkness again.

“You won.” Merlin forces a smile, because they must go on, even if Arthur hates him. “I knew you would, of course.”

They used to be able to joke like this. Since he confessed himself and revealed his magic, Arthur has not said one word to Merlin. And that is nothing to how it feels when their eyes meet and Arthur’s usual warm gaze is vacant with bitterness. Still, Merlin will go through the motions. Until Arthur wants him dead or simply wants him; it’s in Arthur’s hands now.

“I knew that even a little rain couldn’t stop you, and I told Gaius that-”

“You are my servant,” Arthur states. His words are so abrupt and so low that hearing them chills Merlin’s skin.

Merlin doesn’t know if he should respond, but when Arthur looks up and their eyes meet, he knows he must. “Yes... Of course I’m-”

“You’re _my servant_ ,” Arthur repeats. That he cut Merlin off means he wants to talk. Merlin will listen. Rising, Arthur gestures to himself. “I’ve been waiting for you. In this state. You’re my servant, and I need to bathe.”

Merlin is so relieved that they are talking that he forgives Arthur’s tone. Immediately, he moves to the bath that he prepared earlier. He doesn’t have to hide the spell that heats the water. Arthur doesn’t look pleased, but he remains quiet as Merlin approaches and kneels. Merlin reverently removes Arthur’s boots one by one, his socks, then his fingers are on Arthur’s laces and Arthur’s hand stops his progress.

There is a familiar look in Arthur’s eyes. The bitterness is replaced with... Merlin can’t be sure, but _fuck_ he has missed that look.

“Sire?” he whispers. Arthur’s fist clenches tighter at his wrist, and Merlin wants so badly for Arthur to go on and do it, like they used to - just throw him onto the bed and make him weep for mercy. Arthur is quiet, though, so Merlin provokes him. He tenderly draws Arthur’s trousers and pants down in one smooth motion and nuzzles his face against the muddy planes of his wet body. “I’m yours,” he breathes, watching gooseflesh bubble over Arthur’s skin. “Your servant, your friend, your lover - _yours_.” Merlin licks the coils of hair just above Arthur’s prick and reaches under to cup his king’s balls.

That does it. In one unearthly motion, Arthur has Merlin face down on his bed and Arthur’s mud-soiled body rests heavy atop him. Arthur’s previously soft prick is hardening; Merlin shudders as he feels it sliding between his cheeks. Merlin’s about to whisper a spell to ease the way when Arthur yanks at his hair.

“ _Don’t_.” Author's voice is otherworldly in Merlin’s ear, an impatient whine that says more than Arthur ever can. “Don’t ever keep things from me, Merlin.”

“I won’t.” Merlin’s throat is tight, his chest tighter, relief flooding his bones.

Arthur’s mouth is on his neck, hot hands kneading his skin, yanking his clothes. Together, they are a mess; undone.

Merlin whispers the spell; Arthur lets him.

* * *

**21**

He hisses, and lifts his foot from the cool sand to dig a shard of a shell from his sole. 

"About time." The voice comes like the water had, wrapping him in shocking coolness and spitting him out.

He's expecting a dark look when he looks up, though he doesn't know the voice, nor the woman before him. Still, it surprises him that her expression is only wry, not fierce, not heartbreaking. He wonders how long had she waited.

"Long enough," she says, and chuckles. "He'll be so mad he missed your coming." 

"Where is he?" He doesn't remember a name to ask after, but his chest clenches and he must know now, where--where--

"Merlin's been waiting for you. Now it's your turn." A wind, whipping about them, tosses her hair before her face and conceals her expression. Her voice doesn't betray much when she says, "He'll be along in time. That's my fault, a bit. But I…he made sure I'd be here. I've been waiting, too."

He steps forward, the stinging of sharp stones a relief after the blankness of…years? Eons, perhaps. "I've missed you." He still doesn't know her, except that he must, because the words burst forth like he's been holding them in a long time. 

She pushes her long hair from her face. "Morgana," she says. "I was your sister."

"Was?" He is distracted by her eyes, which are bright, crinkling at the edges. She is not an old woman, but something about those eyes strikes him as weathered. She has felt time.

"An old woman, am I?" she asks of him, amused. "Yes. Was. You're a child of Avalon now, I suppose. Reborn." She says it like a bored child recites a lesson. 

"Am I different?" He looks down at himself, flexing his hands before him. He wears no clothes, but feels not shame, just--strangeness. He could be a different person, for all he knew of his own body, though he feels comfortable enough in the skin.

"You look much the same to me. Younger, a bit. Like--like before. Everything." She lays a hand upon his cheek. And that is a familiar thing, even more than the rest. It is just as Morgana had done when they were children. He would fall asleep with her stories falling on his ears, into his dreams, of brave men in battles. 

She’d still done that sometimes, when he left for his first patrol, or for tournaments. Then she had fallen out of the habit, as she had later fallen out of the habit of loving him, without him noticing, until it was too late to get back. He had thought it often near the end, seeing Morgana's army's fires flickering across the battlefields, when bitterness had become as familiar a companion as any knight at his table. Yes. It is all familiar. He misses her with fresh desperation.

"I did love you," Morgana says. "Only, for a while, I hated you more." Her lips curve when he blinks at her. He feels her memories against his, the warmth and misery. "We’re naked in all ways here." 

He turns her palm up in his and presses his lips there. "You’re not." She lets him, so he mouths at her palm, at her wrist. When he lowers her down to he sand, she sighs like years and grief are slipping off her white shoulders with the cloth he parts, until she is bare underneath him.

She looks very white spread across her deep green robes, in the pale light of the long dawn. He dips his fingers into her, crooking them deep and circling his thumb round and round her clit until her chest flushes pink.

She rakes five pink lines down his chest to match, grasps his cock in her other hand. He hadn’t even noticed it grow hard. "Now," she murmurs into his ear, and bites down on the lobe. He spans her round hips with his hands, pressing into the skin there, warm and close. He holds her there as he slides into her. They gasp together, rhythm matched, finally, and it's the first thing that’s not familiar--it's brand, brand new.

* * *

**22**

**They Will All Know**

Merlin dragged his feet tiredly towards Gaius's chambers and sighed, it's been a long day and he was worried about Arthur. 

He opened the door to their rooms quietly and froze; his magic sprang to life and rose to the edge of his skin, reacting to something in the room. He managed to take another step before something moved and he was pinned to the door, his face pressed to the hard wood and something hot and hard pressed all along his back.

"Wha-" He began to ask when he heard a growl from the thing that had him pinned.

"You reek of someone else." The voice, Arthur's voice, Merlin realized, growled in his ear as Arthur pressed harder against him and Merlin gasped, feeling the hard length of Arthur's cock pressing against him.

Something was very wrong.

Merlin suppressed a shiver and tried to move only to have his hands gripped in a tight hold and a growl snarled again.

"Why do you reek of someone else Merlin?" The prince asked in a rough voice.

"I- I don't- Arthur it's-" Arthur swung him around and Merlin's eyes widened when he saw Arthur's black eyes.

"Arthur are you-"

"You are mine!" Arthur snarled in his face and moved closer, his mouth hovering above Merlin's and his eyes staring into Merlin's widened ones.

"And I'm going to make sure you won't forget it," He moved even closer and took a deep breath. "I'm going to mark you Merlin, so that everyone will know you are mine."

With that he swung Merlin up on his shoulder and moved towards Merlin's room, Merlin only had enough time to think that it's probably that bite and fuck yes do before he was dropped on his bed.

Merlin watched with glazed eyes as Arthur took off his cloths, his eyes sweeping over every piece of skin that reveled to him, when he reached Arthur's erect cock his eyes grew impossibly wide.

"Arthur? Is that-" Merlin swallowed thickly as he took in the swollen knot at the base of Arthur's cock, his own body and magic tingling with anticipation even as his mind realized that the bite had some very disturbing changes.

Arthur smirked and climbed on top of him. "Like what you see Merlin?" He growled again and pulled off Merlin's cloths while Merlin nodded mutely.

"Good, because tonight will be the end of all these stupid men who thinks they can take you away from me." Arthur bit on his neck and licked it better. "You. Are. Mine." He punctuated every word with a brutal thrust against Merlin's hip while his hands roamed over Merlin's body, leaving red marks in their wake. 

Merlin's mind was hazy with lust and his magic acted on impulse, wetting his tight passage and sending a wave of his arousal into the air, Arthur froze and stared at him, his eyes impossibly dark as he smirked, feral and possessive.

"I knew it." He said and leaned down to bite at Merlin's earlobe while his hands sought Merlin's wet opening. "Even your magic knows we are meant for each other."

He sunk his fingers into Merlin's scorching heat and kissed him, hard, his tongue fucking his mouth in imitation to what he was going to do and Merlin moaned, low and broken as his hips rose and followed Arthur's fingers.

"So eager for me…" Arthur mumbled happily against his skin as he pulled his fingers out and directed his cockhead to Merlin's hole, his eyes seeking Merlin's. "Ready?" He asked and Merlin nodded.

Arthur's cock slipped in without a stutter and Merlin keened at the feeling, of being full and stuffed and- "God Arthur!" Merlin breathed out as Arthur started thrusting in earnest.

"Mine. Mine. Mine." Arthur growled repeatedly as he thrusted in, in, in. Dragging a scream from Merlin as he came.

Merlin was floating in a contented haze when he noticed Arthur was still pushing in, his knot catching on his rim and Merlin relaxed his muscles, the knot slipping in and Arthur groaned in ecstasy as he started thrusting again, pushing his knot deeper into Merlin's body before he came.

As they lay tied together in the dark, Merlin's body pressed tightly against Arthur's as he laid soft kisses on his neck.

"I'm yours, you know." Merlin whispered, holding Arthur's hand closer to his heart.

"I know," Arthur sighed and moved his hips a bit, testing the knot. "But now they will all know."

* * *

**23**

**Courage, Strength, Magic, and I Guess You Can Count the Dog**

Arthur was never sure if Gwen was being serious or whether she was being her usual self and trying to pull him along. A dog? What need did he have for a dog? He already had one.

Merlin stumbled up beside him, nearly knocking into him, or, would have nearly knocked in to him had the man trying to get around him not shoved him smack into his back. He rounded on him, "Merlin. Honestly, how many times..."

"Sorry, Sorry. I tripped..."

Arthur stared at him, "No you didn't."

Merlin's eyes darted back and forth, "Yes I did."

Arthur sighed, "No. You didn't! I saw the man push you in to me you idiot."

He smiled guiltily, "you saw that...?"

"YES! My god, Merlin. Why is that so difficult?!"

And that was when he got the idea. It was beyond evil…who would help him with such a thing?

They had made it far outside the borders of Camelot when it came to him. Gwen was standing not two feet away from a scraggly haired familiar face. A knight that would not claim himself.

“Gwaine!” Merlin cried, walking completely around Arthur and up to him with that stupid smile of his.

“Well look who it is.”

“Arthur,” Gwen began, but he stopped her.

“Guennivere, you asked for me way out here just to see a dog?”

“I thought it was proper that Gwaine be here.”

Arthur glanced at him, “And why is that?”

Gwaine seemed to ignore him as he chatted away with Merlin.

“He’s the one with the dog” she said, speaking naturally as if it were obvious.

Arthur was still watching Merlin and Gwaine go on like best friends. Wasn’t it odd that they got along that well? It bothered him for some reason. Not that he cared who he became friends with, Gwaine was a good man, a noble knight if he would simply claim it. But what was he talking about?

He glanced back at Gwen, “Well, where is it then?”

She looked up at him with pursed lips, and he could tell she was not at all impressed with him, but still she nodded her head stubbornly and went to fetch the creature.

“Merlin.”

Merlin and Gwaine stopped and turned to stare at him, “Go around back and get a barrel of water for me.”

He gave him a peculiar look and Gwaine shared it with him, “for what?”

“Just do it!”

Merlin rocked on his heels but left Gwaine, “Alright, fine.”

When he’d disappeared Gwaine stepped a little closer to him, “You’re hard on him.”

Arthur chuckled a grin, but it turned into his serious self-assuring face, “He needs it.”

Gwaine raised his eyebrow, “uh-huh.”

Arthur ignored him at first. Should he do this? Would he be able to do it without Gwen seeing? Unlikely…

“Come with me. I need you service briefly.”

When they’d rounded the house and Arthur had explained everything Gwaine approached him, laughing at how confused the look on his face was. The dog was jumping up on him and wagging his tail to get his attention but he was looking beyond it even as his fingers ran through its fur.

Arthur circled around behind him, making it look much like hounds on a piece of meat.

“He’s having you on, Merlin, there’s no barrel. No water.”

“What?” Merlin stared at him and then turned suddenly to find Arthur inches from his face, “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Go!!” Arthur shouted and grabbed Merlin’s wrists, pulling them back and over his head.

Gwaine followed suit and grabbed at his legs, pulling him up off his feet. The dog yipped and barked excitedly as it ran around the three of them. Within moments they had him stripped and the dog came up, nosing his body with his cold nose. Merlin fought with them but the dog left him in a mess of laughter, the same laughter that had engulfed Arthur and Gwaine. 

“Let go!” he cried, and nearly yelped when the dogs wet nose sniffed at his ear and started running around and barking again in excitement. 

Arthur went down on his knees and pressed himself against Merlin, working his own pants free. Gwaine held the wizard from the front and had already guided his hand to Merlin’s cock. 

Arthur’s fingers worked themselves in to Merlin’s hole.

Merlin cried out.

The dog barked.

Arthur slid his cock full into him.

Gwaine stroked their cocks together.

And soon the three were lost.

“Oh my!”

* * *

**24**

Arthur managed not to snarl out a curse but it was a near thing. It was a near near thing. Arwyn was watching him with something malicious shining across his face as Arthur lined up the shot. 

_“They_ say _you’re the best.” His pink mouth turned up into a cruel little frown and Arthur reminded himself that he was a Prince and that putting up with Arwyn, he came from fertile lands to the south with a long tradition of trading that both kings hoped would continue to the next generation._

_“I am the best in Camelot.” Arthur said with a sharp smile he’d learned from his father on his worst days._

_“Prove it.”_

It was a humid and windless day. He was all too aware of the tension in the bow, it matched the tension in his chest, with everything pulled so tight it was half a breath from breaking and shattering like spun glass. Merlin stared placidly at him, back against the wooden wall all that nervous energy stilled. He stared at Merlin’s eyes; they snapped too-blue in the afternoon familiarly defiant in the face of Arthur and his bow.

Between one breath and the next he let the arrow fly. It landed with a wet **twack** burying in the wood through the apple that had been balanced in the ridiculous nest of Merlin’s hair. _He never blinked and his eyes never flicked from blue_. Merlin collapsed that ridiculous grin stretching his face out and Arthur stalked away before he could say anything he’d regret.

\--

Arthur was furious, he bit at Merlin’s jaw and it didn’t help any. He wanted to shake Merlin until he stopped being such an _idiot_. It wasn’t a new sentiment but Arthur wasn’t used to feeling helpless. Merlin whined, breath hitching as Arthur’s fingers curled trying to push deeper and deeper. Maybe he could fuck his frustration into Merlin’s body, make him see the things he did that made Arthur crazy. 

“You. Idiot.” Arthur bit out, his own breath was coming fast and sharp and it shouldn’t possible to be this hard while being this angry; it seemed like a paradox. He pulled his fingers free and Merlin mewled, back bowing so he could push his hips down, eager to follow him and Arthur’s stomach clenched. Merlin was so shamelessly desperate for it. 

“What?” Merlin bit out, his eyes wild, he surged up at him. They tussled for a bit, rolling naked across Arthur’s bed, Merlin’s nails digging into his shoulders and fighting dirty. Arthur finally pinned him down, wrapping his hands around Merlin’s wrists and using it to hold him still. Merlin jerked once, twice before he went limp, mouth going soft and open eyes totally unfocused. 

“You.” Arthur growled, resting his weight on Merlin’s wrists so he could get between his legs, slim thighs spread easily for him. “Why didn’t you do anything? Why didn’t you use your magic?” Arthur was confident in his skills, but an apple on Merlin’s head wasn’t an acceptable bet. 

“What? When?” Merlin mouthed the words like he was kissing them. 

“The apple.” He hissed. 

“I trust you.” Merlin said, looking into Arthur’s eyes as he tugged on his wrists pointedly. There was no give until Arthur caught his meaning and dropped them right away, the skin was reddened from being held so tightly. A little more and he’d have such pretty bruises.

“That’s not the same.” Arthur replied as evenly as he could manage. 

“It is.” Merlin grabbed at his shoulder, nails digging into the scratches he had already left there to get his attention. “It is because _I choose it_.” 

Arthur laughed weakly; Merlin really didn’t get this whole regency thing at all. Still some of the anger bled away, replaced with the tangled knot of feelings that was purely Merlin; shocked arousal, an inexplicable wave of possessiveness, and that little voice in his head that was never quite satisfied that he had enough. _Mine mine mine._

He grabbed Merlin around the thigh, making him spread wider so he could guide himself inside one-handed. Merlin’s beck arched into a long line as he was filled; Arthur pushed, keeping Merlin wide open so he could press as deeply as he could possibly be. Breathing hard as he bit his lips raw against all sorts of filthy promises, just holding and watching the way his cock stretched Merlin around him. 

“Please.” Merlin begged raggedly.

* * *

**25**

Art school and hands-on experience, both, have taught Merlin—art student and world-class lover—that there are several very easy routes to happiness.

**1\. Lines**

It's an accident and a blessing, really. It's the beginning.

"Oh god!" Freya says. "I haven't hurt you, have I?"

Merlin peers back at the dark scratches down his shoulder and says, "Not really. It's fine."

What that actually turns out to mean is, do you want to do it again, maybe?

**2\. Shading**

"You're crazy, mate," Gwaine says smearing the paint across Merlin's collarbones with his thumb. "Stay still. You do know this stuff will be stuck in your cracks for ages?"

"I know," Merlin says, admiring his hands. One is pale and one shimmers black.

Gwaine says nothing for a minute, but then grips Merlin by the jaw. "Fuck me if it isn't hot on you though," he says, and kisses Merlin thoroughly.

**3\. Color**

"I can't tell if you're really a masochist or just an artist," Morgana says idly, a different colored candle in each hand.

"All good artists are a bit of both," Merlin says into his folded arms—and then shudders, moaning as a wash of burning heat dribbles down the small of his back.

"That was the orange," Morgana tells him.

"I liked that one," Merlin mumbles, the inside of his head all fuzzy.

**4\. Starting over**

"You're sure you're okay?" Lancelot asks, manhandling Merlin into the shower. Merlin has red rope burns on both wrists and under his arms, and his arse is deliciously sore. He's higher than a kite, and melts into Lancelot's arms the instant they are both under the spray.

"Merlin?" Lancelot asks again, but Merlin just hums and kisses him, lush. Lancelot kisses him back, and it's so wonderful that Merlin can't help but laugh, first into Lancelot's open mouth and then into the bright, steamy air.

**5\. Freedom**

"Just like that," Arthur says. "Yes—there!"

Merlin lets his arms dangle above his head. The breeze is wonderful on his skin. Arthur's shutter clicks. Merlin smiles, and it clicks again.

**6\. Nice clothes**

"I want to see you in them," Mithian says. Her ankles cross demurely, but in the grey suit trousers she still looks casually powerful. "Do put them on."

Flushing, Merlin adjusts himself in the lace knickers. Mithian's eyes gleam like a wolf's, he imagines. He almost wishes the knickers were red.

Carefully, he bends and presses his toes into the bunched up opening of the stocking. He aligns the seam with great care, sliding them up his legs.

He always wants to be perfect. This, like everything, is art.

**7\. Chaos**

The feeling of six hands on your body is one that everyone should experience, Merlin thinks with what remains of his brain. He is furiously, achingly hard and will have sand in everything by the time this is through, but he has never cared much about such things.

"Off," Gwaine grits, tugging at Merlin's briefs, and then they slide away, and are gone as if they've never been. All four of them are naked in the beach light, and Elyan's mouth is first on Merlin's cock, hot and subtle and smooth, before he realizes it.

"Oh god, god," Merlin pants, wrenching at Percival's grip on his wrists. He is perfectly immovable, just as Merlin likes it, so he struggles as hard as he can, imagining the flex of his muscles and of Percival's, counterbalanced.

His arse takes two cocks and five fingers, and his mouth takes kisses, kisses.

The trails in the sand afterward—the major goal of this exercise—are almost inconsequential. Merlin rests his head on Elyan's lap afterward, feeling fingers card through his hair, and studies them. There, Percival's knees where he'd been bracing himself. There, Merlin's feet, in two long, deep furrows. There, a palmprint—Merlin can't tell whose.

"Shall I take a picture?" Gwaine asks. He pads around the wreck of sand, making a perimeter of footprints.

"No," Merlin says. He has memory enough. "The beach can keep it."


	5. Group B (clean)

**26**

Merlin steps out of the shower, reaching for the towel on the rack, soft and still warm from the dryer. He watches the vague shape of his body move in the fogged up mirror, feels the excitement filling his chest already. The cold air tickles across his freshly shaven skin as he opens the door to his bedroom. 

_Searching hands wind their way into hair, collars, anything to hold onto as he invades your space, kissing over your throat, the patches of skin not hindered by clothing._

The outfit is all there, laid out on the bed, waiting. Merlin picks up the knickers, soft satin and lace, and slides them up his legs. They don’t fall into place on his hips immediately, and there’s some tucking and careful scrutiny in the mirror before they’re the way he wants them. Next are the stockings, perfectly pale with a black seam up the back. They feel like heaven on his bare skin, but watching in the mirror, his too long fingers and knobby knees ruin the illusion, at least until they’re all the way on, and then another piece of the transformation has slotted into place. 

_You’re supposed to be quiet, not make a sound, but you can’t help the little gasp as your back hits the wall, gently enough but still surprising. His hands are under your dress now, fingers running over the edge of your panties. It makes you weak, glad for the wall behind you and his body pressed against yours._

The bra is entirely unnecessary. Merlin doesn’t even stuff it, could never imagine pulling it off with his body shape. But it completes the outfit, he once said, even if only there for decoration. 

_He presses against you, hard against your thigh. Your mouth finds his as you reach for him, feeling him through the fabric of his trousers. You go for his belt, and he shakes his head and goes to his knees._

Make up and hair are next. Merlin had entertained the idea of a wig once, but couldn’t bring himself to spend that much on one of the good ones, something that didn’t look entirely fake. So all he does is a little product to make his fringe stick up, shaping it into a small fauxhawk or whatever the fuck it’s called. It looks good, plenty of women now have short androgynous haircuts. 

He had tried eyeliner once, and that had been a fucking disaster, so he sticks with foundation and rouge and a bit of mascara. The lipstick goes on last, turning his mouth into hers, sultry and “damn near criminal”. 

_God, he’s so fucking good at this. That feels like the dirtiest secret, that you and you alone know that Arthur Pendragon is good at sucking cock, and loves it to boot. He lets your spent cock go with a pop, and your knees finally give out, sinking down the wall. He catches you, and he smiles, eyes bright even in the dark._

The dress is short, black, rouched and seamed in all the right places. It hugs his waist and the curve of his ass perfectly. Merlin smoothes his hands over the neckline, down the front and around. No pantilines in the mirror, good. 

Shoes are the last thing, black pumps, heels high but not unmanageable. He takes one last long look in the mirror, savoring the feeling of becoming something other than himself, something desirable. He becomes her. 

The doorbell chimes.

* * *

**27**

It was just a bit of razzing, really. The knights often pulled pranks on Merlin, whether it be hiding his meal or stealing his neckerchiefs to tie on the horns of the cows in the village green. Merlin liked to think the teasing a gesture of affection, inclusion - which was why he merely laughed when the knights set their hunting bows aside to scoop Merlin up and carry him bodily towards the river.

Percival took the bulk of his weight, hefting under his armpits to drag the squirming and giggling Merlin towards the water, while Elyan had his knees pinned tight. The king’s favourite hound barked and jumped at them, Merlin not sure if she was coming to his rescue or aiding in the assault. The latter, he thought, as her wet tongue slopped against his ear. He bucked in their grasp, freeing a leg and kicking with it before Gwaine joined the fray, grasping handfuls of his trouser-leg. The yank on the cloth was too much – with a snap, the string of Merlin’s britches parted and with his next struggle, his legs slid upwards while his pants slid downward, and there it was. His cock, exposed to the world in all its vulnerable splendour.

Laughter died as they all froze, seconds stretching as everyone stared down at it in its dark thatch of hair, until it stirred under the scrutiny, slowly rising under their gaze until it pointed treacherously at Merlin’s belly.

There was no sound but Merlin’s heaving breath. Then Elyan’s hand stretched out, tracing Merlin’s length as it twitched beneath his fingers. The tableau was broken – Merlin gasped out a sob, his torso clenching and muscles straining as he curled in on himself. Humiliation lent him the strength to wrest a hand free of Percival’s grip in a belated attempt to cover himself.

“Nononono,” Elyan murmured, catching him by the wrist. “Don’t hide, Merlin.” Gently he lifted Merlin’s hand away. “Let us see.”

Merlin flushed to the colour of a baby beet, closing his eyes against the knights’ gazes. Percival leaned down to put his lips against Merlin’s ear. “Let us, Merlin.”

The river forgotten, Merlin was carried back to camp and laid out like a banquet on Leon’s cloak. Elyan was the first to lean in, stroking his cheek against Merlin’s thigh. Then Merlin was drowning in a sea of hands and mouths, fingers and tongues. Percival curved his great shoulders down to plunder Merlin’s mouth with a burning kiss; Leon planted small bites across his belly, while Gwaine sucked in a nipple, flicking his tongue across the small nub before turning his attention to its mate. They took their time, lavishing their attention over every inch of Merlin’s flushed skin.

Percival pulled Merlin up to lay against his chest, soothing his hands along Merlin’s sides as one would a skittish hound or horse. He then grasped beneath Merlin’s thighs to lift his legs apart and back, baring Merlin to his attentive audience.

Gwaine tangled his tongue with Leon’s across the sensitive head of Merlin’s dripping cock, then bent to suck on his balls, drawing each one in to tease it with his tongue. Elyan spread Merlin’s cheeks apart and sucked gently on the round of flesh over each of his sit-bones in turn, before pressing his mouth over his clenching hole, sucking hard. Merlin gasped, and Leon swallowed him down to his root, tightening his lips around Merlin’s cock as it prodded the back of his throat. Merlin arched up with a cry, his body convulsing as his orgasm washed over him in long pulses. He collapsed back against Percival as his legs were lowered slowly to the ground.

The knights continued to caress him, stroking over his body, through his hair and along his cheeks. Merlin felt utterly wrecked, limp in Percival’s arms, his chest heaving up and down. His eyes were unfocused and his fingers slowly unclenched from Leon’s cloak.

“All right there, Merlin?” Percival asked with concern. At Merlin’s brief nod, Percival broke into a brilliant grin. “Good. Shall we get you to the water now?”

Later, after he had been gathered up and tossed in the river, joined by the knights in a capricious display of splashing and frolicking, Merlin stood on the bank, reveling in the rays of the setting sun as they climbed down his naked body. It's good, he thought, to feel included.

* * *

**28**

He pulls out a fag and lights up, studies it in his fingers and pretends, inexplicably, as though the buzz of the streetlamps overhead can mask Arthur's approaching footfalls, makes it seem as though he finds the cigarette more interesting than the boy arriving at the edge of his garden.

Arthur doesn't say anything to this, just shakes his head and snorts - makes the sound unsurprised and mean, and the peripheral sight of him is enough to have Merlin flushing, half regretting this already.

Arthur moves to shuffle forward, turns towards the back of the house and Merlin lets him go. He doesn't move himself until his smoke's finished, waits a good few minutes longer as well as he picks at a tiny crumbling indent in the concrete underfoot, heart fucking going in his chest and not stopping when he does push away from the front steps, when he follows after Arthur, turns the corner of the house and comes face to face with him waiting in front of the shed, hands in his trouser pockets.

The silence remains thick between them and Merlin just goes for his keys, fumbles them into the padlock with a jangle. The hinges screech in protest when he gets the door open, seeming louder in the dark, and Arthur's head jerks in the direction of the only window visible from their point.

“We're too far to wake her,” Merlin says as he steps over the threshold, voice low. It's more cluttered inside than he thought it would be, bikes shoved haphazardly in the corner, buried under bin bags of clothes his mum never got around to donating. There are gardening tools strewn across the floor, and he has to shove aside a lawnmower with a cracked petrol tank in an attempt to clear a patch in the mess, ends up making more of an effort doing so than he needs to, yanking at the handle, cursing when he catches a knuckle on a wayward rake before throwing that aside as well.

A sled he's not used in years joins the rake, tossed on top of the bags to keep it silent. A busted watering can is after, then their toolbox, the hosepipe, the fucking tent - still in the box - Merlin bought when he was supposed to go with -

He's breathing hard, he realises, his chest heaving, and his hand fucking hurts.

Arthur's still standing in the entrance when Merlin looks up at him, watching with forearms resting on either side of the door frame. 

“You done?”

And, “Fuck off,” is what Merlin says to that, suddenly angry, and he wonders why he's here to begin with – why the fuck – what did he even think would – And he goes to move forward, shoves into Arthur with force and makes him stumble.

Arthur's trainer catches a rock in the grass and he goes back a couple feet, expression shifting into one of shock before changing into something else entirely.

There's a second or two then – of breathing, of staring at each other as a dog barks from somewhere far off, a car door slams the next street over – before Arthur's the one moving forward with purpose, catching Merlin under the arms and sending them both back into the shed, doesn't stop until Merlin's back hits the wall, rattling the aluminum siding.

“You fuck off,” he says, hoarse. He pushes harder for a moment, too much pressure against Merlin's lungs.“Fuck right off.” And then they're kissing, a rapid-fire string of movements neither of them can much control.

Merlin thinks about pushing him off, gets his palms on Arthur's chest but only ends up grasping at Arthur's t-shirt, pulling until it's dragged over his head.

It doesn't take long to get into trousers then, to take them off entirely and slick up, rub each other, and gasp into the hot air gathered in the spaces between shoulders and necks. It doesn't take long to get off either – never does to come with another curse on their lips and pant together, unwilling to look at each other or pull away.

Eventually, though, Arthur pushes away, shuffles into his clothes and mumbles something about leaving, about it being late.

Merlin waves him without looking.

He stays in the shed a while, though, lights another fag and watches the stream of smoke escape from the gaps in his self-deprecating smile. He takes his cock in hand and squeezes where he can still feel Arthur. Leans back. Takes another drag.

* * *

**29**

"I’m not sure it’s really a date..." Merlin frowns, gripping his phone more tightly in a hand that's slick with nervous sweat.

"Yes, it _is_." Gwen voice brooks no arguments. "You went home with him from a club at the weekend; you snogged him in the library yesterday after he brought you surprise coffee and muffins; he's been texting you all week -- and now he's asked you to meet him to go running? It's definitely a date," she giggles. "So wear some decent pants.”

"Oh, God, okay," Merlin groans. "He's going to be here soon, I should get changed. I’ll call you later.”

"Go get him, tiger," Gwen giggles, making a growling noise. Merlin rolls his eyes as he ends the call.

***

Gwaine looks seriously fit in his running gear. Black lycra running tights and a red long-sleeved shirt fit him like a second skin.

Merlin's not really much of a runner. Swimming is more his thing, but he didn't want to turn down an excuse to spend time with his... whatever Gwaine is. It’s much too soon to call him a boyfriend and the word 'lover' makes Merlin cringe, even if he thought that mutual slightly-drunken hand jobs on a sofa qualified Gwaine for that title. 

Merlin tries not to stare too blatantly at Gwaine's crotch, but it's really difficult not to search for the outline of Gwaine’s prick when he can still remember how it felt the other night -- warm and slick, and so-very-unfamiliar in Merlin's hand that was only used to gripping his own. 

Running is surprisingly enjoyable. The early spring air is crisp, and the sky’s clear and blue above them as they pound through the woods and fields that surround the campus. 

Of course it's too good to last, and a stray bramble around his ankle is Merlin's downfall -- quite literally. He trips and faceplants onto the uneven, muddy path beneath his feet. 

Gwaine pulls him back up, and Merlin laughs it off. But the hot burn of embarrassment doesn't leave him and he curses his clumsiness and inability to stay on his feet.

***

"You need a shower," Gwaine grins at him as he straightens up from a rather distracting hamstring stretch. Merlin whips his eyes back up to Gwaine's face instead of his arse. “I’ll scrub your back.”

They peel each other out of their sweaty clothes. 

Merlin tries to hide his nerves and inexperience. He’s never been naked with anyone before and the instinct to cover himself is nearly overwhelming. But Gwaine runs warm hands over Merlin making him shiver, and murmurs against his skin between kisses, telling Merlin that he’s beautiful. The hot rise of Gwaine’s cock against Merlin’s hip helps him to believe that it’s true.

They get each other slippery with soap under the hot spray, and Merlin relaxes further, giggling and ticklish as they kiss and grope each other.

“Come here,” Gwaine grabs Merlin’s arse and hauls him closer, soapy fingers sliding into places where Merlin’s never been touched before. He whimpers, wanting, but feeling dirty at the same time. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he tucks his face against Gwaine’s neck, ashamed by how painfully aroused he is by Gwaine’s touch. When Gwaine gets his fingertip to Merlin’s hole and circles it, Merlin’s legs nearly give out. He yelps and grabs at the shower curtain. “I’m sorry,” Merlin gasps. “It’s just... no one’s ever...” His face flames, but Gwaine’s eyes are soft with understanding as he holds Merlin close.

“Come on.” Gwaine turns off the water. “You definitely need to be lying down for what’s coming next.”

***

“Okay?” Gwaine whispers, breath teasing Merlin’s arse cheeks, hands spreading them wide.

“Yeah,” Merlin manages, face burning against the pillow. 

The hot flicker of Gwaine’s tongue is so shockingly good that Merlin is brought to the edge mortifyingly quickly. He’s grateful to be face down, he needs to hide or it would be too much. He ruts against the duvet, his cock trapped beneath him, and as Gwaine presses his tongue inside Merlin cries out and spills, hot and wet against his belly. 

“Christ, Merlin,” Gwaine crawls over his spent body, pulling Merlin over onto his back. “I want to show you _everything_.” He stares down at Merlin lying wrecked, limp with pleasure. Merlin watches as Gwaine jerks his cock hard and fast, and when he comes he paints Merlin’s body with blood-hot stripes.

Merlin wants it all.

* * *

**30**

It was hard to struggle while laughing hysterically but Merlin tried. Leon held his arm as a nude Arthur wrestled his shorts off. Worsening things, Arthur’s dog Callie decided to join in and attacked playfully, licking Merlin’s ear, tickling him into a helpless mess.

While distracted by the pup, Arthur freed Merlin’s feet from his board-shorts and suddenly he was naked, giggling and laying on the grass, Arthur pinning his feet down. Leon shimmied out of his own Bermudas. They hit the ground, he kicked them aside and grasped Merlin under each arm while Arthur hoisted his legs up and hitched Merlin’s knees around his hips. The blonds dragged their wriggling friend down the slope toward the lake behind the Pendragon’s “cabin”.

Calling the palatial house a “cabin” was laughable. Leon and Arthur had been coming here since infancy, friends before they could speak. Merlin, a year younger than Arthur and two younger than Leon, became a new addition to these pilgrimages after he’d arrived at the school both boys attended this past term. Merlin wasn’t wealthy but brainpower earned him a scholarship to the prestigious school where he’d first met Leon then Arthur. It seemed wherever one went, the other followed and surprisingly, it wasn’t long before Merlin was added in, their duo becoming a trio.

Carrying the feebly struggling Merlin to the lake-shore, Leon reminded Merlin this was for his own good.

“You have to go with us, it’s a rite of passage. Besides, you _said _you loved to swim!”__

“I do! In a _heated_ pool in a sports-center, not some frozen lake in the depths of middle-earth!"

“Stop being such a girl, Merlin! The lake’s hardly frozen, it’s almost eighteen degrees!”

Without hesitation they swung Merlin and heaved him into the water. Coming up spluttering, Merlin made for shore but both boys flanked him before he’d caught his breath and dragged him further in. They caged him between interlocked arms and held him still as the sun beat down and waves eddied around. Merlin’s shivering faded as they pinned him close between them.

“I-I thought we were swimming?” he quavered, rapidly responding to the press of their heated skin. He’d not yet confessed he was gay but if they kept holding him, it was going to quickly become obvious to Arthur pressed tight against his belly.

However, he discovered he needn’t confess anything when he felt Leon’s tongue running lightly up his neck and two cocks rising to press firmly against his aching flesh. Arthur captured his mouth, canted his hips to let his erection spring between them and rubbed his hard-on against Merlin’s rapidly filling length.

When he breathed, “We will…later.” Merlin had difficulty understanding he was answering Merlin’s question. Leon squeezed Merlin’s small buttocks in large palms while his tongue continued to swipe along the long line of his neck. Arthur’s tongue caught Merlin’s while his fingers trailed over sharp hip-bones, along his lean waist before continuing over each of Merlin’s ribs as if memorizing every dip and rise of his torso.

He didn’t release Merlin’s mouth but his hands trailed over the tight planes of chest and belly before grasping both their cocks, bringing them together tightly. Merlin couldn’t help his gasp and went up on his toes at the intensity of sensation. As he rose, Leon’s hardness slipped between his buttocks and the tall boy began to gently rock his hips back and forth creating delicious friction against Merlin’s sweet-spot.

With Arthur pumping his straining flesh in front and Leon’s silky length pressing rhythmically against his tender taint, nudging his balls from behind, Merlin couldn’t long hold his release. Keening into Arthur’s mouth, his heated seed spilled into the cool water surrounding them. Subconsciously tightening around Leon’s cock, the boy groaned against his throat and unleashed a scalding fountain against the cool skin of Merlin’s tightly drawn-up scrotum. Arthur moaned loudly, released Merlin’s mouth and pumped his hardness against Merlin for a few more strokes before he too released the warmth of his completion into the lake swirling all around their rocking bodies.

Both older boys wrapped their arms around Merlin and leaned into him, the three holding each other up as their strength recovered. Blond heads dropped to either side of sable and they nuzzled his neck in tandem.

Speaking for the first time since they’d pressed him between them, Merlin quipped, “They _were_ right in school. You two do _everything_ together.”

Arthur responded, “Not anymore, now it’s the three of us.”

* * *

**31**

He stops, listening carefully to the sounds of his surroundings. A bat flying overhead. A pair of squirel on a tree to the left. Quiet footfalls about 30 metres behind. 

In a blink of an eye, he turns and starts running. The man has no chance of escaping.

Three seconds and he has him backed against a tree.

“What do you want?” he snarls, staring into the eyes of the man who has been following him since he entered the Avalon club almost five hours ago.

“You, Arthur Pendragon,” the man says, surprising Arhur by grabbing his hips and pulling them flush together, the man’s erection unmistakable against Arthur’s thigh. 

“You don’t know what you want,” Arthur says and presses his leg between the man’s thighs.

“Oh, I know,” the man says, pushing aside the fabric of his shirt, revealing long line of his neck as he tilts his head to the side.

“And I know what you want,” he says and drags his fingernails over the exposed flesh of his shoulder, leaving red lines behind.

“Are you suicidal?” Arthur asks, his mouth watering at the sight.

“No,” the man says and when Arthur lifts his gaze to meet his eyes again, they’re swirling with gold.

“Okay then, little sorcerer,” Arthur says and swiftly turns the man around. “But I’m not going to be gentle.”

The audible hitch in the man’s breathing says all Arthur needs to know and he snaps the man’s fly open and pulls his jeans down. He spreads his arsecheeks and runs his finger around the man’s hole. It’s slick with lube.

“Aren’t you a proper boy scout? Always prepared,” Arthur says and stands up, quickly working his own fly open and stroking his cock into full hardness.

He doesn’t waste time and pushes inside the wet heat of the man’s body.

“So tight for me,” he whispers into the man’s ear, rolling his hips in slow rhythm. “I wonder what you taste like, little sorcerer,” he adds, his mouth hovering over skin of the man’s neck.

“Merlin,” the man gasps.

“What?” Arthur asks, completely distracted by the feel of the man’s pulse under his tongue.

“My name,” the man says, meeting each one of Arhur’s thrusts.

“Okay then, Merlin,” Arthur says, rolling the name onto his tongue experimentally and lets the fangs descend.

The moment he sinks them into the warm flesh, Merlin’s knees buckle, but Arthur is already holding him tight around his waist. He sucks on the open wound, lets the blood wash over his palates and hums.

Merlin goes still in his arms and Arthur can feel the power seeping into him as Merlin’s magic flares.

Arthur sucks harder, the bright sparks dancing in his vision as he comes. He can feel Merlin clenching around him and suddently there’s only white.

When he wakes up, it’s to Merlin’s eyes, still tinged with gold, and he’s the one pinned to the tree. Merlin presses close and sucks a bruise into his neck.

“Mine,” Merlin growls.

* * *

**32**

Merlin _consumes_ him, in a way nothing ever has, has ever come close, and it frightens him the strength of that consumption. It’s- it’s not decent, there’s a perversity inherent in wanting that much, nothing at all elegant or noble in that desire. It’s not enough to be close to him, he wants to be _inside_ , floating through his veins, drinking his mouth as if it were possible to take the soul of a person into one's own body and hold it there.

“I wish you wouldn’t come,” Merlin says.

“That’s a lie.”

“It is,” is the rueful response. “But I want to mean that. You deserve so much more.”

“What would you do if I didn’t come?”

“I would rejoice,” Merlin says quietly and then grins. “I might even dance.”

“Not bloody likely. You’d claim that rock there. Sprawl out like a starfish and _long_ for me.”

“I would, and still I’d be so happy for you, Arthur.”

The depth of sincerity guts him, because Merlin would, and he shouldn’t be. He should know Arthur could only ever be happy with him. “You’d long for me,” he says again, hating the uncertainty in his voice.

Merlin sighs and looks out at the water and Arthur is desperate to get his attention back from that place that claims Merlin so completely. “Would that matter?”

“Of course. It means you’re different. That we’d be different.” He remembers the first time he saw Merlin, years ago, all gangly limbs and ears seeming twice as large with his wet hair plastered to his skull. His friends had all been laughing, dancing, and Merlin had looked lost as he stood there, digging his toes in the sand and tracing the shape of his ears with a finger. He’d looked mental, to be honest, and then sounded it too when he stared straight at Arthur and asked, “Do you like these, then?” It took a long moment of gaping before Arthur realised the stranger meant _his ridiculous ears_ and he let out a sharp bark of laughter and replied, “God no.”

Merlin isn’t at all like Gwaine or any of his other friends that chase after girls and then slip back easily into the water. And Arthur would never do to him what others did with Freya, with Hunith. He wants to believe that, but he also wants so _fiercely_. What wouldn’t he do to get to keep this?

“Arthur,” Merlin says, and Arthur steamrolls over that warning note in his voice.

“Do you miss me? Do you ever?”

Merlin sighs again. “Time passes so differently, I don’t--”

And he can’t bear to hear another word, especially not with the reminder of their ever diminishing time. He rolls over Merlin, bites at the place where his neck blends into the curve of his jaw. He wants to mark Merlin all over, somehow make an imprint that will last. He swallows Merlin’s groans, tries to feel them on the sides of his tongue before they go down, but they escape him.

He knows the body beneath his so well. The endearing shape of those ears, every dip and ridge of that spine, the slim hips that fit so perfectly in his hands, the sharp fingers and edges of bone; Arthur has dreams of sliding his hips over Merlin's and coming away with red drags on his skin. He braces himself on one arm, separating their bodies, tries to catch his breath.

“I want to fuck you,” he says, the words as inadequate as they are true, and the words sting on his lips, enter the tiny cuts at the corners of his mouth and sink there, cutting with their weight.

“Yes, please,” Merlin says with a heartbreaking grin as he pulls Arthur back down in a kiss. Merlin’s mouth is soft and yielding, meant for the kind of leisurely exploration they never have time for. “Oh, god,” he chokes out when Arthur’s hand slips between their bodies, and Merlin wraps his legs around Arthur’s waist, claws at his back. Merlin loves the sensation of being held down, has never known anything quite like it, and he eels and twists in Arthur’s grip, laughing.

Arthur pushes inside, the way already slick with his last release, and Merlin arches under his hands, all his sharp angles melting into curves and kisses him so sweetly, Arthur almost believes he can wake up to this.

* * *

**33**

"What do you think I felt," Arthur whispers, mouth trailing up the side of Merlin's neck.

He can taste the sweat on Merlin's skin, feel the pulse that throbs under his lips on the side of Merlin's neck. Arthur bites down, rolls the skin between his teeth and hisses his pain when Merlin's nails scratch a path up his bare back to his shoulder. He knows there will be marks, but it's unimportant when he has Merlin pressed against the door of their flat.

"How do you think I felt? Hearing you deny this," Arthur whispers.

He loves the way Merlin looks at him, eyes glazed over, hips thrusting forward. Arthur loves the noises that fall from Merlin's mouth, the low keening sounds that scream his desperation, his absolute _need_ to have Arthur in him. Arthur loves how Merlin breaks, how he's there to serve when the doors close.

"I know what it does to you," Merlin answers, dark blue eyes gazing down at Arthur.

He _knows_. Arthur can read it in the way Merlin's body fits into his, the way his hands dig into Arthur's hair so that when their lips find each other it's hard and desperate already. Arthur feels Merlin's exhale down his body and he has to press forward until they're touching everywhere. Merlin's overdressed. Arthur too, with everything on but his shirt. But for now it's okay, because Arthur is running his tongue over Merlin's lower lip and Merlin's opening his mouth, is letting him in. There's no slow, just the sudden push of Arthur's tongue, the way he tastes Merlin, as though he can't get enough. 

Merlin goes limp in Arthur's hand so that it's harder for Arthur to get a hand between them, to push it past the waistband of Merlin's jeans and around Merlin's cock. He's hard, aching if the way he gasps out Arthur's name is anything to go by. 

"You like that," Arthur asks and he doesn't need Merlin's confirmation. It's just polite to ask.

Arthur knows what this does to Merlin too, to have Arthur's hands on him when everyone else thinks they're just friends. Arthur's watched him smoking and getting off while Arthur whispered in his ear how they were lying, how they had everyone fooled, how no one would ever know just how much Merlin liked being fucked open by Arthur.

It gets them both off; the secrets, the lies, the looks they exchange between breaks at work, the quick fucks in Arthur's office. The one time they almost got caught and Merlin had to hide under Arthur's desk but couldn't keep himself from biting, from licking so that Arthur had to cut his meeting short. They'd fucked on Arthur's desk with the board members just outside the office. They could still hear them talking to Gwen as Arthur pushed into Merlin, over and over, fucked him slow until Merlin's fingers were white around the edge of Arthur's desk and his face red from having to hold in the noises he wanted to make. 

But it's more than that too, more than Merlin running fingers through Arthur's hair to get it to look decent. More than checking twice before slipping into the loo at a bar during nights out with their friends. It's more than just watching Merlin fuck himself into the circle of Arthur's hand. 

It's what comes after, the expression on Merlin's face when he's sated, how he falls into Arthur's chest. It's about how he never forgets to give as good as he gets, how he knows what Arthur's favourite drink is, what Arthur likes after a long day of work. It's about how Arthur always gets the wrong brand of milk, but how he never forgets an anniversary or the obscure days that Merlin would never remember—the first time they kissed, their first date, the first time Arthur saw Merlin, the first words they interchanged. 

Even if no one knows, it's enough that they do. What happens next will happen when it does.

* * *

**34**

“You know smoking is really vile, love,” Gwaine sidles over to Morgana, naked as the day he was born.

Morgana looks at him and laughs, “That’s a good one coming from you. You’re worse than a chimney.”

Gwaine stands between Morgana’s parted legs and quickly grabs the cigarette from her fingers, “yeah but I’m macho and manly, there’s a difference”

Morgana makes an aborted grab for her cigarette and snorts, “macho and manly. That’s why you were crying like a little baby when you came an hour ago”

“You wound me. It was only your immense sexiness that sent me so far over the edge. How is a normal man supposed to cope?” Gwaine hold the cigarette just out of Morgana’s grasping reach.

Morgana tries to grab the cigarette again but ends you pressing her lace covered breasts into Gwaine’s chest. “Oh, I swear if you don’t give me my cigarette. You’ll never have another orgasm in my presences again”

Gwaine’s eyes go dark as he presses back against her and lifts the cigarette to his mouth. He takes a deep drag and slots his mouth over hers exhaling the smoke into hers, “I don’t believe that for one minute,” He says against her lips

Morgana exhales the smoke and pulls Gwaine in for a deep kiss. All teeth and lips and tongue. It gets kind of sloppy with harsh breaths and noses bumping. It’s always like this between them, Real and flawed and natural. 

Gwaine slides his hands around her thighs and lifts her into his arms the cigarette firmly between his lips. He walks across the sunny room with her legs wrapped around his waist, the white lace of her corset scrapping against his chest with each step. 

He unceremoniously dumps her on the rumpled bed and climbs on pushing her legs up and around his middle. 

Gwaine inhales on the cigarette and pulls the lace of her corset down revealing a small pink nipple and exhales the warm smoke across it. Her nipple hardens and peaks with the attention. “Mm mm, do that again,” Morgana hums. 

Gwaine takes another drag, bares her other breast and takes the nipple into his mouth exhaling the smoke around it in a warm cloud. Morgana squirms as the smoke tickles her sensitive skin. Gwaine sucks lightly on her nipple as he reaches over to the bedside table and gently deposits what is left of the cigarette in an ashtray waiting there. 

His hands find her clit ready and wet. No panties in the way of his hands. He rubs it hard as she writhes beneath him. Small gasps of air the only noise in the room. Morgana pulls him down by the neck and licks at his mouth as he open and lets her play with his tongue. Licking kisses that meet mid-air. Both of them grinning into it. 

“Give it to me, do it,” She demands as she licks at his scruffy cheek. 

“As the lady commands,” Gwaine smirks as he lines up his dick and pushes into her. 

Morgana hums with approval and pushes back against him establishing a hard and fast rhythm they both like. Gwaine runs his hand down her sides and palms her ass bringing them closer together. Morgana clenches around him as she feels him start to falter close to coming. 

Gwaine moves his hand between her legs and pressed down on her clit. Morgana seizes up and comes around his dick, “cheater, you did that on purpose,” she sputters when she comes back to herself. 

“All’s fair in in war,” Gwaine says as he kisses her silent. 

“We’ll see about that,” Morgana smirks and tightens around him sneaking one hand around to press against his hole.

“Mmphm,” Gwaine’s movements stutter to a stop as he comes long and hard. 

Gwaine pulls out of her and flops down beside her on the bed gathering her into his arms, A soppy grin on his face that he will never admit to in public.

“Those fingers should be outlawed and you know it,” he smirks as he closes his eyes for a nap. Morgana just rolls her eyes and settles against him.

* * *

**35**

It wasn’t that Merlin had planned to send his new neighbour chest first into a muddy puddle outside their building. Maybe he had, at some point, vaguely wondered how Arthur would look with his clothes clinging to his body like a second skin while water trickled down his face and dipped slowly down below his jaw. He’d thought about droplets sliding against his ridiculously gorgeous neck just _a little_ , but that didn’t mean he’d barrelled into Arthur on purpose. 

This didn’t seem to make Arthur any less angry.

The fact that Arthur was livid, fisting his hand into Merlin’s shirt and yanking him forwards roughly, did not make Merlin any less aroused. It was kind of the opposite, actually. 

Merlin knew, shamefully, that his cheeks were flushed as he stared at Arthur’s nipples poking through the see-through yellow shirt and that was... well, it was... _fuck_. It didn’t even put him off that there was mud smeared across half of Arthur’s face – if anything it was even a little hot and what was wrong with him, exactly?

“You’re cleaning this up,” Arthur said, his voice strained with badly concealed anger. 

And Merlin said “yes, _sire_ ” like a cheeky bugger because he figured it meant that he’d be doing Arthur’s laundry for a week, not that he’d be dragged into the building by his shirt and hauled inside Arthur’s bathroom. He definitely didn’t think he’d be standing there with his cock hardening so fast he was downright dizzy while Arthur undressed with tense shoulders. It seemed a bit like a very unlikely daydream, so the best thing to do was to stand completely still in case Arthur remembered he was there and cruelly threw him out just before Arthur’s thumbs slipped below the waistline of his jeans. 

Merlin didn’t even breathe. 

Then his breath came out in one dizzying rush when a decidedly nude Arthur shoved him back against the door, breath fanning hot against Merlin’s neck. The air felt strange and heavy all of a sudden, as if Merlin would never get enough of it into his lungs, making his mind sluggish and dazed. Teeth grazed the skin of his neck and Merlin could feel his pulse running rapidly under the sudden pressure of Arthur’s tongue. Being trapped between the door and Arthur, heavy and warm and naked, was overwhelming and his head fell back with a thud, the pain not even registering.

There was a soft nip at his jaw and then a deep groan. “God, you’re infuriating.”

“Uhm,” Merlin just said, his fingertips grasping desperately against the door. 

It wasn’t that Merlin had planned to end up with his cheek pushed against the cold tiles in his neighbour’s shower with one of Arthur’s hands cradling his head and the other wrapped too tight and too hot around his cock. It wasn’t even anything he’d fantasised about because, quite frankly, not even Merlin’s imagination could’ve come up with _this_. His breath was shaky as Arthur’s hand slipped from his hair, following the line of his neck and the curve of his shoulder before it came down to grasp his hip in a grip that was just tight enough to make Merlin groan, his lips grazing the wall. 

“So fucking infuriating,” Arthur murmured against his shoulder, his lips brushing across Merlin’s slick skin. “So gorgeous. God, fuck you for being so gorgeous.”

Merlin’s fingertips whitened against the tiles as he braced himself, pushing back into the slick stroke of Arthur’s hand under the scalding water. His hair stuck to his forehead and water ran into his eyes, but he barely had it in him to blink it away as Arthur’s thumb moved across his slit, making Merlin push into the touch with a soft whimper. He couldn’t decide if the best thing was the fingers curling around his length, the cock pressed against his arse with steady thrusts or... oh, okay, the best thing was definitely the way Arthur grunted obscenely into his ear when he came. And that was really all Merlin had time to think before his mental capacities dissolved into broken moans and _ohfuckohfuck_. 

He hadn’t planned to laugh, giddy with the thrumming buzz under his skin, when he turned around and found Arthur still had mud across his cheek even under the steady stream of water, but he did. 

“You’re useless,” Arthur said, scowling when Merlin rubbed his thumb over the spot of dirt and then nuzzled into Merlin’s touch like a kitten.

* * *

**36**

Merlin flinched as warm wax hit skin at the small of his back and sighed in anticipation. Tonight, he knew, Arthur would have him teetering on a knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. 

Hot breath followed the line of slowly cooling wax cooled up his spine. Hot lips trailed kisses across his ribs as more warm wax dribbled in their wake. Arthur’s hand ran down his sensitive flank. Merlin shifted; plastic crinkled beneath him.

He couldn’t forget how this had started. Walking into the flat to soft music and low-burning candles. Stepping into the living room. Being pounced by a very naked Arthur. 

In the ensuing wrestling match, someone bumped the coffee table, tipping over the candle sitting there. It rolled to the table’s edge, where it slowly dripped hot wax onto the bared skin of Merlin’s belly.

He’d hissed at the heat, and Arthur had pulled back from kissing and undressing him to look. Picking the wax off, he’d leaned down to kiss the reddened skin. Aroused, Merlin had moaned and his cock had twitched between them.

A speculative look had entered Arthur’s eyes, and they’d spent the rest of the night -- and the days after -- experimenting, researching, and determining what worked best for them. It had been the start of a most pleasurable addition to their sex life.

Tonight, he’d come home to find everything laid out for an intense session. Arthur had slowly undressed him and kissed him breathless. Then he’d whispered, “On the bed, on your belly. I want to play.”

Merlin had hastened to obey, melting and relaxing under the blond’s hands as Arthur rubbed him down with baby oil. Arthur took his time; kissing, caressing, preparing his lover for what was to come. Merlin moaned as Arthur dragged his fingers over his buttocks, exposing Merlin and teasing gently at his entrance.

“Gonna open you up. Get you all ready for me,” Arthur breathed into Merlin’s ear. “Gonna make you scream by the time I’m done with you.”

Merlin moaned from the slight burn as Arthur breached him. He rutted against the rough towel he’d placed beneath him, the drag of the terry cloth exquisite against his hardening cock. The bright hot smack of Arthur’s hand on his ass made him gasp and jerk.

“None of that, now,” Arthur growled, adding another finger and making Merlin thrust back against his hand. “Stay still.”

Merlin eagerly obeyed, indulging on one last wriggle, which Arthur rewarded with a nip to the back of his neck. He tightened the grip he had on his pillow as Arthur added another finger and thrust rhythmically, hard and deep, hitting the spot that made Merlin’s toes tingle. Without warning, Arthur pushed in hard one last time before withdrawing completely. Merlin mewled in protest.

Arthur chuckled, deep and dark. “Impatient, sweetheart?” 

Without giving Merlin a chance to answer, he buried himself, working his cock past the tight muscle until he was seated balls deep. He moaned and pulled back a bit. Merlin felt the side of Arthur’s hand brush against where they joined and knew his lover was wrapping his hand around the base of his cock, staving off his orgasm.

“So tight for me, Merlin,” Arthur moaned. “Been waiting for you for hours. Wanking just so I could do this when you finally got here. All for you.”

“Nuh,” Merlin grunted. The bed shook a little as Arthur shifted, driving him deeper; and Merlin saw stars. The first warm caress of the wax as it dripped onto his back made him tense. Arthur, ever watchful, licked and kissed his way up Merlin’s spine to mouth softly at his shoulder, gentling him.

Merlin spent the next little while in a haze of pleasure and pain, of bright heat and fire. Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, Arthur changed the routine...and upped the stakes. 

“I thought,” he whispered, “that we could try something a little different.”

There was the clink of ice as it hit the side of a glass, and then cold trailing down the lines of wax. Merlin shivered and moaned as Arthur gently picked and peeled the wax away. The combination was new, and the sensations it caused went straight to Merlin’s already straining cock.

He bore down on the cloth beneath him, desperately seeking friction. Arthur’s grunt of disapproval was followed by the sharp drag of nails across the deep lines on Merlin’s back. 

Merlin screamed.

* * *

**37**

**The Painted Cock**

Merlin kneeled in the middle of the room; one hand clutched around his cock in a futile attempt at modesty and raised a hand up to rest on the back of his head.

"Is this a good position?" Merlin asked. He couldn't quite bring himself to raise his eyes from the floor, not while he was undressing and certainly not now.

"Hmm... There's something not quite..." Arthur said. "Oh! Stay there, I'll be right back."

Merlin glanced up as he heard the door click. He took the opportunity to stretch and look around the room. It looked like any other art studio; the only difference was that this one was in a castle. _Of course, it's a bloody castle, you're being paid exorbitantly._ Merlin thought. He was more apprehensive by the second and was considering putting his clothes back on and leaving when Arthur walked in again.

"Any objections?" Arthur asked with a tone that implied Merlin would be out the door sans pay if he did object. Arthur held up a tin of black body paint.

Merlin's mouth fell open in shock. The audacity of this prat was ridiculous but Merlin really needed the money.

"No, it's fine." Merlin reluctantly replied. "Give it here, then." He held out his hands.

"No can do. This needs to be perfect. You don't know where the paint would look best." Arthur said. "I have to apply it for you. Get back into position, please."

Merlin glared at Arthur but did as he was told. Arthur studied him for a minute before he kneeled next to him. Merlin's breathing picked up when Arthur leaned in. _Why do his "hmms" have to be so distracting?_ Merlin thought. _I'm not going to live through this without embarrassing myself._

Arthur leaned forward suddenly and swiped a handful of black paint from Merlin's collarbone, down across his nipple. Merlin bit into his lower lip and shivered at the cold paint on his body. _I need to get out of my head and pay attention so I'm not surprised again._ Merlin berated himself.

Arthur grabbed more handfuls of paint and smeared his hands over Merlin's body. _This is all rather haphazard._ Merlin thought.

Then, Merlin's thoughts flew out the window when Arthur's wet fingers brushed against his thigh. Merlin let out a quiet grunt and hoped Arthur didn't notice the noise. The motion was repeated higher this time. _He is not moving his hands slower, it just seems like that to you._ Merlin reasoned with himself as his cock grew harder with every stroke of Arthur's fingers against his thighs. _Okay, maybe you aren't imagining it._ Merlin thought as he glanced up at Arthur. Arthur's pupils were dilated. Merlin's fingers twitched against his cock in response.

"Can I?" Arthur asked, all the smugness gone from his voice, as he slowly put his hand around Merlin's wrist. Merlin felt his face flush with heat and arousal. He wasn't about to turn down what Arthur was offering, just because of a slight poncey attitude.

Merlin nodded in response, not trusting his voice. Arthur pulled at Merlin's wrist until he released his cock. Then, he just stared at Merlin.

"Well?" Arthur questioned. Merlin looked at Arthur in confusion until he realized what he wanted.

"You want a show." Merlin stated. “I’ll give you a show." Merlin said with false bravado as he wrapped his hand around his hard cock.

His strokes were long and languid as he studied Arthur's face, he used his other hand to move across his body, smearing the black paint all over and ruining Arthur's artful lines. He sped up his strokes when Arthur moaned low in his throat. Merlin thrust into his hand. The precome from his head was keeping the paint wet enough that the sensation was pleasant. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the sensations. He needed release.

"Let me." Arthur said with a husky voice and Merlin felt Arthur's hand on his cock. Arthur's clothed chest pressed against his as their lips met in a wet kiss. Arthur moaned again and Merlin was done in. His orgasm crashed over him and all he could do was ride it.

When he came back down, Arthur was in front of him and throwing a towel at his face.

"Clean up. I expect you back here tomorrow so we can finish the painting." _What a prat._ Merlin thought . Arthur was out the door before he could say a word.

* * *

**38**

It's not like he's done this before. He really doesn't know what to expect. All he knows is that he's paid for a bit of a show, and that the performer - Arthur, was it - is just on the other side of the door, getting ready.

Arthur's assistants have already tied Merlin down. His middle, ankles, and elbows are strapped to the chair, and only his hands are free. For right now, they are nervously gripping the armrests on the uncomfortable chair, but Merlin knows that soon he won't be able to keep them off his cock.

There is a knock on the door and Merlin's mouth goes dry. Arthur's assistants give each other a look and Merlin knows - he knows that it's about to start. His cock twitches with excited interest and one of the assistants glances over at the moment. Merlin can't help but blush, even though he knows that they are beyond used to seeing strangers' cocks - he's not used to having strangers see his cock.

After another knock, the assistants leave. Merlin is left alone for what feels like an eternity, but what he knows is really only a minute or two.

Finally, the door opens again and there - there, wrapped the fluffiest bathrobe Merlin has ever seen - there is Arthur.

Merlin gulps and his hands move of their own accord to his thighs.

Arthur smirks and turns to close the door. He stays facing away for a long moment - long enough that Merlin wonders if he's somehow having second thoughts, if he's decided that Merlin isn't worth the money, if he's going to give Merlin a refund and walk away without - 

One of Arthur's hands drifts up.

Merlin tries to lean forward, but he is stuck in the chair, forced to stay still and in place.

The bathrobe drops to the floor in a soft _whoosh_ and Merlin finds himself staring at what has to be the most perfect backside on the entire planet. It's round and firm and practically begging to be rubbed or pinched or licked or slapped or whipped or - 

Arthur turns and Merlin's eyes land on his cock. It's thick and long and red and _throbbing_ and perfect. There's a vein that sticks out on one side and Merlin wants to touch it - wants to lick it.

When Merlin finally manages to look away from Arthur's cock, he sees that Arthur is lighting a cigarette. And fuck, if Arthur's face isn't as perfect as the rest of him. He has a strong, beautiful nose, a chiseled jawline, wide lips, bright blue eyes, scruffy blond hair - the man is an Adonis and Merlin is utterly speechless.

"Do you smoke?" Arthur asks, striding forward toward Merlin's chair.

Merlin nods for some reason and Arthur pushes the cigarette into his mouth. He can taste Arthur on the filter for a moment, but then he breathes in and all he can taste is tobacco.

Arthur reaches out and trails his fingers down Merlin's jaw, then his neck. Merlin leans into the touch and Arthur's eyes light up, but then the moment is gone and Arthur is backing up and stroking his cock with a slow intensity.

"You're very pretty, for a man," he says in a low, hoarse voice.

Merlin takes a long drag off the cigarette hanging from his lips and exhales shakily before he lets himself touch his cock. Arthur grins and turns, then bends over and gives Merlin a devastating view of his arse.

"If I untied you, would you fuck me?"

Merlin leans his head back and looks up at the ceiling, not entirely sure if Arthur would let him - that's not what he paid for, after all. Arthur straightens up and turns around, and his expression is expectant and genuine. Merlin exhales on a "fuck yes."

* * *

**39**

The water surface is calm and serene today, with only the smallest of waves lapping at the shoreline. It's a direct contrast with the turbulent swirl of emotions churning inside Merlin, threatening to pull him downwards if he doesn't receive the sign he's been searching for soon.

Seven years. It's been seven years to the day that he last stood at this very spot. He had been a mere lad of seventeen, choosing to spend every day of his last summer at the beachside. That fall, he would be thrust into the world of college and jobs, and he had been desperate to enjoy his vanishing amount of freedom while it lasted.

He waits now for the same boy--nay, the same _man_ \--he met that fateful day. He had been skipping stones against the water, the beach completely empty save for him. Or so he thought.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Merlin had startled at the voice, the stone previously in his hand dropping into the water with a loud plop. He whirled around to find steel-blue eyes boring into him with such ferocity that he shivered despite the sweltering heat. "...What?"

"This is my beach, what are you doing here?"

Flawless tanned skin that glistened under the rivulets of water cascading over it, golden hair that glowed like the sun even while damp--the man was the epitome of male perfection. He was also completely naked and scowling in Merlin's direction.

"...What?" Merlin repeated, struggling to compose himself. "What are you talking about? This is a public beach, you know. "

"No, this is _my_ beach." Strong fingers had shot out to ensnare Merlin's wrist, their touch cool and clammy. "You trespassed on it, so now you are mine as well."

Merlin might have protested, might have fought it at first, he doesn't remember. But it hadn't been long before he surrendered to the hungry mouth pressing against his, the exploratory hands that roamed every inch of his body. Soon he had been naked as well, his pale skin a beacon against the shore’s black pebbles as he was pushed down. The incoming tide licked at the edges of his heated flesh, and he shivered once more as lips closed over one of his nipples.

"Mine," The man growled, his tone nearing animalistic as he made his way down Merlin's body, biting hard enough to leave a mark. Merlin jerked his hips upwards and moaned, pre-come already beading at the tip of his cock.

Their bodies rutted against each other for needed friction until the man reached down and enclosed both of their hardened cocks in the cusp of his palm. White hot stars burst in front of Merlin's eyes at the first stroke, and he arched his back as the pace increased, hissing at the rocks digging into his shoulders but delighting in the pain at the same time. It was frantic and messy, and soon he came forcefully with a loud cry, the man coming with a grunt not too long afterwards.

"Take me home."

It had been a command, not a question, and Merlin almost agreed without a second thought. But then the orgasm-induced fog lifted from his mind, and he had panicked. "...But I don't even know you!"

"I'm Arthur. Take me home now."

"I can't! We just met and--”

The man-- _Arthur_ \--had pulled away before Merlin could say anything else, disappearing under the waves of the sea. There was only a flash of golden brown seal skin, and Merlin was left feeling utterly bereft.

It had taken years before he fully understood, and he pored over so many books on the subject he ended up majoring in it. But as he stands there like all the texts instruct he should, Merlin wonders if he’s making a foolish mistake over what was probably just a simple dream.

The answer comes in the form of an excited bark, and then Arthur emerges, water coursing down his naked form. He's hardly changed, save for a few faded scars that mar his skin, no doubt from close encounters with fishermen or other sea life. Once again, Merlin feels guilty for his hesitation years ago, but Arthur doesn't seem to care as he smiles widely, eagerly. "Take me home."

“...I will,” Merlin says, stepping away from the pile of clothes he’s already shed. “But you need to take me first.”

* * *

**40**

One of the awkward things about being a werewolf, Freya had found, was sex. Freya knew how she liked sex. She liked scented candles. She liked back rubs. She liked taking things gentle. She liked taking things slow. Unfortunately, the wolf had other ideas, and the sort of guys Freya liked to date and the sort of guys who liked to be bitten without warning did not tend to overlap.

And then there was Merlin, who was about as sweet and gentle as they came, who’d taken it ever so gallantly when she’d put off sleeping with him for so long. Who was currently in her bed ( _at last_ ).

“Mmph.” He pulled back from kissing her. “I just want you to know –” Freya looped an arm around his neck and kissed him again.

“You talk too much.” She faked a scowl.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said with a sloppy grin.

“All is forgiven.” She kissed him, hands tangling with his hair. He kissed back, harder, deeper, tongue sliding into her mouth, and things started to get heated, warmth pooling down low, and –

Her nails dug into the flesh of his shoulder, clawing at him. She didn’t realise just how hard until he let out a pained sound. “Sorry.” 

“S’alright.” He kissed her again, one hand on her breast, thumbing at a nipple. Freya tried to breathe, to keep in control, and she managed until his fingers brushed her inner thigh.

The other awkward thing about werewolf sex was that you were so ungodly sensitive. Freya had flipped them over and pinned Merlin to the bed before she even knew what she was doing, and he just had time to say,

“ _Wow_ , you’re quite strong, aren’t you –”

– before she dragged her nails down his chest hard enough to leave angry red marks. Merlin hissed and arched up into Freya’s touch, and she had a brief moment of panic before he said, “ _Fuck_ , do that again,” voice shaking in a way that kind of made her want to cuddle him but also made her want to do it again, now.

She scratched him again, clawing at his chest, and he squirmed, making the most delicious noises. 

“Your nails are _sharp_ , oh god –” and then he was pushing up, hands on her hips, head of his dick pushing up against her. “Can I –”

“Oh god _yes_.” She clung onto his shoulders while he slid into her, nails biting at his skin – he felt _so good_ inside her, she pushed back down, rocking against him, riding him. The wolf loved it, and she had to muffle a growl by pulling him up and burying her face in his neck, sinking her teeth in.

For a second she thought that might be too much, but he was thrusting into her, hands scratching at her back. He choked out, “yes, that, _harder_ ,” so she bit him again, nails still digging into his shoulder blades.

“Oh god,” he whimpered, “Oh god, _please_ ,” as the wolf grew more and more frantic – he was _hers_ , her mate, and she would have all of him, thank you very much – “Oh _god_ ,” then frantic gasping as he came throbbing inside her, and the scent of him was enough to tip Freya over the edge, biting down on his neck harder than ever.

They slumped back, and she nuzzled at him, trying not to look him in the eye just yet.

“Well, that was unexpected,” he said. “Also, _ow_.” 

Freya blushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you – well, I did a bit, but –”

“No, it’s fine.” He rubbed at his neck. “It was good. I mean, weird. But good!”

The scratch marks on his chest and shoulders were starkly red. The bite-marks on his neck were starting to come up purple. Freya felt a strange sense of pride looking down at him.

“I can’t help it,” she mumbled. “I just have these urges sometimes.”

“No, I like it. I foresee a lot of scarf-wearing in the next few days, though. _Ow_.” 

Freya giggled, then sobered. “We need to talk. Pretty soon. Nothing serious – or it is serious, but not – there’s just something you should know about me.” 

“It’s okay.” Freya drew back to look him in the eye.

“You don’t even know what it is yet.” 

“I said it’s okay.” He was petting her back, and he looked so peaceful and happy amid the pillows that she couldn’t help but be reassured. She smiled back.

* * *

**41**

Maille does not a perfect warrior make.

Maille has weakspots, it’s heavy, it needs constant upkeep and repair, it’s heavy, it pinches in inconvenient places, and oh yes, it’s _heavy_.

These are things to which one grows accustomed, when one is prince.

But, by the by, it has its uses. Beyond avoiding death and dismemberment, that is. It hides secrets, you see. Hides soft bellies and imperfect strides. Gives one confidence even when facing down an angry man with a sword intent on cutting you deeply for love and country.

It also hides scars.

Not that Arthur’s all that bothered by scars. He has them; he won them fairly but they’re nothing to brag about. Would that life didn’t involve so many scars, but it did, and his did especially, and that was that.

He wasn’t bothered, at least, until Merlin.

\---

Castles at night are dark, no matter how many torches you light, and Arthur is thankful for this as he herds Merlin towards his bed, hands under scratchy clothing and lips pressed wherever he can reach. This is the third time this has happened, and Arthur’s adjusting, he thinks, to the idea of bedding a manservant, emphasis on the ‘man.’ Merlin’s skin is smooth, and his mouth is supple, and, as a pleasant surprise, he keeps the level of idiocy at a minimum. So it’s been a worthwhile endeavour, all things considered.

Tonight, though, Merlin has been in his cups. Not so much so that he’s having trouble performing. Just so much so that he’s having trouble keeping his damned mouth shut. It’s a spectacular narration of what Arthur’s trying to remain convinced is a rather mundane occasion, and it’s very nearly making Arthur blush. If he did such things.

“Merlin, just shut up and enjoy it, will you?” He manages to extricate an especially uncoordinated Merlin from his clothes, sheds his own, then coaxes Merlin to lie back, licking kisses into what he can because—because there’s moonlight coming in where usually there is not, and Merlin’s skin is on display. And it is _flawless_.

Arthur slows to a stop, and stares. Until Merlin squirms a little. “Arthur--”

“Shush.”

“Arthur.”

“Merlin, for the love of--”

But Merlin has that strange strength of the intoxicated, and the element of surprise, so Arthur suddenly finds himself on his back. He tenses, but Merlin doesn’t seem to have nefarious purposes. He merely seems to be… contemplating Arthur’s body.

“Your skin is very rough,” he says quietly. Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but Merlin continues, his hands smoothing up and down Arthur’s torso and beyond. “It’s seen so much, right? Battles and tournaments and wayward tailors and sorcerers and days on horseback and—and so many things.”

Arthur swallows. The lines Merlin’s hands are following– well, they’re not prescribed, nor are they very logical. It’s as if he’s—Arthur can only think it’s as if he’s being _painted_. Expensively, expansively painted, like he’s a castle Merlin wants to show off.

Fates save him from intoxicated manservants, Arthur thinks, and takes control back with a firm grip. He settles Merlin across his hips so their cocks are aligned, then puts his hand in front of Merlin’s face long enough for him to get the hint and gift it with the warmth of his mouth.

Then, with his palm around them both, his other hand roving up and down Merlin’s skin in an unconscious and attempt at repayment, he guides them both to fairly outstanding releases, if he does say so himself. Afterwards, Merlin fwumps down onto him, boneless and muttering something about charcoal. Arthur shakes his head and reaches for an abandoned piece of clothing—hopefully Merlin’s—to wipe up the mess.

Merlin’s hand catches as just after he’s thrown the soiled cloth back to the floor. “C’mere,” Merlin mumbles, tugging Arthur into a truly undignified position. He thinks about resisting, but he’s tired and the bed is soft and Merlin is a surprisingly good bedmate, despite the sharp elbows and knees and a tendency to put off an alarming amount of heat.

But he doesn’t fall asleep right away. The moon is still bright and, well, Merlin is all stretched out in front of him, illuminated like a manuscript. He can’t help but reach out and draw lines, sweep expanses of affection into this perfect shell on this imperfect man.

Instead of sleep, he does the best he can, and paints the moonlight onto Merlin’s skin.

* * *

**42**

Somehow, during what was supposed to be a strictly heterosexual camping trip, an innocent game of outdoor Twister has evolved into a less-than-innocent game of outdoor _strip_ Twister. Now, the word 'innocent' can no longer be applicable, because Arthur's shirtless, Gwaine's naked, and they're both pulling Merlin's shorts off of him with terrifyingly determined vigour. To top it off, Lance is licking at Merlin's ear, making Merlin squirm and laugh even harder.

"Stop! Jesus Christ, guys, stop!" Merlin is yelling in protest, Arthur binding Merlin's arms and Gwaine's fingernails scratching against Merlin's hips as he yanks off the shorts.

"C'mon Merlin, even Lance wants to see your junk," Gwaine laughs, and finally Merlin's shorts are flying through the air, landing on a stray bush, and Merlin is completely and utterly _naked_.

Mission complete, Arthur drops Merlin to the floor unceremoniously. "Hah," he says, triumphant, as Merlin blushes a bright tomato-red. Lance barks and disappears into the forest, probably distracted by a woodland animal. "Why so shy, _Mer_ lin? No one can see you."

" _You_ can see me," Merlin points out with a glare, but doesn't bother to cover himself up - not with Gwaine similarly as starkers as he is. Merlin narrows his eyes at Arthur. "Now _you're_ in the minority. I think it's time you stripped too."

Gwaine grins, lecherous, at Arthur's plain horror. "It's only fair, pretty boy. C'mere!"

In seconds, Merlin and Gwaine have wrestled Arthur to the ground. Somehow, when they surface, Gwaine has Arthur's shorts, Merlin's even redder than before, and Arthur has a raging hard-on.

"Um," Merlin stammers. " _Oh._ "

Arthur's so embarrassed, he's struck dumb. So it leaves Gwaine, of course, to break the tense and awkward silence. "Orgy, anyone?"

"Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you, Gwaine?" Arthur hisses, standing up with little grace. Merlin stares at Arthur's erection openly, eyes wide. "And for crying out loud, stop staring, Merlin! This can't be the first time you've seen another guy's dick!"

Merlin averts his eyes; he can't possibly look any redder. Gwaine's eyes are still piercing on Arthur, though. "I can help you with that, you know," he suggests, completely casually.

"What the fuck?" Arthur rolls his eyes as Merlin nearly chokes on his own spit. Clearly he's trying hard to wish away his erection, but it remains stubbornly at full mast. "Unless you can grow a pair of tits and get rid of your dick, there's no way I'm letting you touch me, you bastard."

Gwaine shrugs. "If you close your eyes, my hand and my mouth will feel just like a girl's. Promise."

"Go fuck yourself, Gwaine."

Arthur's turning away, ready to stalk back into the tent, when he's stopped by the half timid, half yearning sound of Merlin's voice. "If I close my eyes, will you... help me?"

When Arthur turns around, he sees Merlin's plain desire: his pale complexion is flushed all over, especially his cock, jutting out from the dark curls of his groin. "Merlin?"

Gwaine's grin is wide and eager. "It would be my pleasure, M. I do it all the time, I know what I'm doing."

"I know," Merlin snaps, sounding much more like himself - more confident, less afraid of the outcome of his rash decision. "I've heard it. Fuck, I've _seen_ you do it. You're not exactly private about this stuff."

Gwaine looks almost proud as he walks up to Merlin, Arthur looking on with growing surreal bewilderment. "I'll have you know that the Gwaine Experience is _legendary_ ," he brags, and then, without any warning, he pushes Merlin against a tree and wraps a hand around his cock. "Close your eyes, Merlin," he whispers. "You're about to have the best orgasm of your fucking life."

It takes less than thirty seconds for Merlin's breath to start to shudder, his hips arching hungrily into Gwaine's spit-slick hand. It takes another minute before Arthur's striding over, for Gwaine to shove him against the tree too, and swallow Arthur's cock in one smooth slide.

"Fuck," Arthur's panting, hand tugging at Gwaine's hair. "Fucking _hell_."

Later, Arthur will deny it, but when he comes in Gwaine's mouth with a sharp cry, it's not the lips wrapped around his cock that send him over the edge, but the eager, keening whine that Merlin makes against Arthur's jaw as his come paints Gwaine's chest; the sound that Arthur then smothers with another kiss, more dirty and demanding than before, tongue thrust down Merlin's throat and licking him inside-out.

* * *

**43**

**oh, the night is young**

Mithian shuts the door and sags back against it, exhaling in relief. She can still hear the vague strains of dub-step filtering through from the party downstairs but it’s distant, muted, and Mithian can easily hide in here until Gwaine and Elena decide they want to leave. 

“Pardon my French,” a familiar voice says, drifting out of the dark, “but what the fuck are you doing in here?”

Mithian blinks. Morgana le Fay’s curled up by the open window, moonlight striping her face, wisps of greyish smoke swirling around her. 

“Oh,” Mithian says, feeling suddenly flustered. “I’m hiding from the party. What about you?”

And that’s kind of a stupid question, given that there’s a joint dangling from Morgana’s fingers and Mithian doesn’t even have to inhale for the smell of pot to hit her lungs, but Morgana just laughs. 

“Same,” she says, “except this is my room.”

Mithian’s eyes widen. “I’m so sorry!” she says. “I didn’t realise, I just wanted to get away.”

Morgana laughs again, but it sounds genuine this time. “It’s fine,” she says. “I totally understand, trust me.”

Mithian’s eyes have adjusted enough for her to see Morgana lift the hand holding the joint to crook her fingers in the universal _come hither_ motion. Mithian does, a little uncertainly, and perches next to Morgana. This close, Mithian can see the faint smirk on Morgana’s face, and she’s glad it’s still too dark for Morgana to see her flush. 

Or so she thought. Morgana chuckles, exhaling a cloud of smoke all over Mithian which makes her cough violently. 

“Sorry,” Morgana says, not sounding very apologetic. “You not a big smoker, then?”

Mithian’s still coughing, so she only shakes her head. “I like the smell, though,” she offers, when she can speak again. “I don’t mind, y’know.”

Morgana cocks her head, like she’s considering something, and then she smiles. “Open your mouth,” she says, and Mithian does. 

Morgana wraps her lips around the joint and inhales, cheeks hollowing out. Then she leans forward and presses her lips to Mithian’s, exhaling into her mouth. Her breath tastes smoky-sweet and Mithian inhales, feeling it rush into her lungs. She doesn’t cough when Morgana pulls away, but it’s not without concerted effort. 

“Not bad,” Morgana murmurs, and then she leans back in and kisses Mithian, one hand on her bare thigh and one hand cupping her jaw to tilt her face into it. 

Mithian thinks she should push her away, probably, because Morgana’s high and Mithian really doesn’t do this, but Morgana bites down, gently, darting out her tongue to trace the seam of Mithian’s lips, and Mithian opens without any resistance.

The kiss deepens and Mithian gets so lost in it, in Morgana’s mouth and the warmth of her body, that she doesn’t notice Morgana’s hand’s crept up her thigh until she feels fingers rubbing her through her knickers. 

Mithian makes a very undignified noise and rocks down, can’t help it. Her cheeks are burning because if she can feel the sudden wetness between her thighs then Morgana definitely can, but Morgana just pulls back a little, laughing. It doesn’t sound mean, though, and her eyes are soft when she looks back at Mithian. 

“If you don’t want to do this,” she says, “now would be a good time to say so.”

Mithian shakes her head hard, says, “No objections,” her voice embarrassingly shaky. “There are probably negative objections, even.”

Morgana laughs again, head tipping back, and it’s such a cliché but she looks beautiful like this, the moonlight outlining her in sharp relief. Mithian can’t help but stare, her mouth suddenly dry. 

“Good to know,” Morgana says, and then her fingers are slipping inside Mithian’s knickers, thumb pressed tight to her clit. Morgana bites at Mithian’s collarbone, sucking over the spot in the same rhythm of her fingers pushing into Mithian. 

Mithian arches against her and gasps something that might be _more_ and might be Morgana’s name. She can hardly think, nerves sparking all over her body until everything whites out and she comes, shaking in Morgana’s grip. 

It takes her a moment to come back to herself, to notice Morgana wiping her fingers off on a tissue. Mithian kind of wants to thank her, but she’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to say thank you for orgasms, so she just kisses Morgana, reaching for the zip on her jeans.

* * *

**44**

The night air was warm, the warmth almost stifling under the heavy cloak he wore. The red of the material stood out starkly among the more natural colors the Druids wore. His men fanned out beside him in a sea of red, standing tall at his side and Arthur nodded for them to join in the festivities. 

Drums filled the silence with their beat. The clearing in the woods that had been chosen was illuminated by the full moon overhead as well torches that had been planted into the earth. 

Only Lancelot and Percival stayed at his side as he moved forward to where the crowd had gathered in a circle. At the center was Merlin, the light flickering across his pale skin as a robe was slipped off his shoulders. His dark head was bowed as an older woman approached him holding a bowel. Arthur watched as Merlin nervously tried to cover himself. Only Percival’s firm grip on his arm kept him still. 

His council had gone into an uproar when he’d announced that he would give the Druids the honor of the ceremony. Breaking with the tradition of having it take place in Camelot. The Old Religion had brought them together, and Arthur would do his best to honor that.

The old women was handed a brush and she used it to scoop up a black tar from the bowel. She began to spread it across the pale body, moving it across Merlin’s chest and then to his thighs. “It’s to signify power.” Gwen told Arthur as she slipped to stand beside her husband, Lancelot’s arm wrapping around her waist. “And the power you two will share as you unite the kingdom.” 

“Clearly.” Arthur’s voice was derisive as he watched Merlin fidget. Percival still hadn’t let go of his arm and it was likely the only reason Arthur hadn’t put an end to this. Merlin glanced up and his eyes locked with Arthur’s as the drumming increased in tempo, people packing in tighter around them. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the flash of red as his men returned to his side. Merlin’s lips turned into what could almost be a smile.

“It’s time Sire.” Percival’s grip loosened and his hands moved to Arthur’s shoulder, deftly removing the cloak he wore. 

Gwaine moved into view as his hands went to the tie of his breeches “Put on a good show yeah? Now’s not the time for performance anxiety.”

Arthur snorted stepping away from them as he pulled his shirt over his head and toed off his boots. “I don’t think I’ll have a problem with that.” Merlin’s blush deepened as Arthur pushed down his breeches, his hand circling his hardening cock.

The Druids chanted but Arthur paid them little attention as he approached Merlin, coming to stand in front of him. Merlin swallowed deeply and there was an edge to his voice as he whispered “I didn’t expect there to be this many people.” 

With Gwen and Lancelot it had just been them and Arthur’s men, Elyan spending a good amount of the time trying to look anywhere else but his sister’s marriage bed. 

Arthur gripped his arm, his fingers smearing the tar as he spread it across Merlin’s skin. His other hand cupped his chin and he tilted his head back placing a biting kiss to his lips “They came to see you.” Merlin shuddered. He pulled him close feeling their skin slide together, the black tar now staining Arthur’s skin as well “and of course I have a reputation for being devastatingly handsome.”

Merlin laughed and he his lips found Arthur’s shoulder “Prat.”

“All yours now.” Arthur whispered against his ear before he bit down lightly on the lobe and moved his hands down Merlin’s side, pushing him down. He followed, kneeling as he laid Merlin down before him. Arthur’s hand explored the body he had years to become familiar with, bypassing the hardening cock and feeling behind the balls. He smirked finding him already wet and loose, “I do enjoy it when you prepare yourself for me.”

Merlin returned his grin, his confidence returning as he focused on Arthur “Yes, well I didn’t want to leave it up to your lazy arse.”

Arthur laughed and pressed another kiss to Merlin’s lips as he hoisted pale legs around his hips. Merlin gasped his eyes burning gold as he pressed in and the drumming only got louder.

* * *

**45**

Arthur isn’t sure when it started, but it hasn’t stopped since.

He lights up the joint quickly, fingers fumbling slightly in his eagerness—or perhaps that’s just his delayed motor functions, but Arthur would never admit to that.

He brings the joint up to his lips, taking a drag as he settles into his usual chair by the window. He checks his watch briefly; just past five o’clock.

Let the show begin.

In the room across the street from his, the door opens and a young man enters, slumping against it as if tired.

He never looks toward the window, or at least he hasn’t once since this started. Maybe, if he did, he would realise he never closes the blinds, and that Arthur is in plain sight across from him—completely naked but for his socks—as he watches.

But the man continues not to notice, and Arthur can’t think of a reason to (doesn’t want to) stop.

Eventually the man pushes himself away from the door, coming to stand in the middle of the room.

That’s when he starts taking his hoodie off.

Arthur tenses, hand travelling to where his cock is already half-mast just at the _thought_ of the man undressing.

His shirt rises slightly as the hoodie comes off, and Arthur groans around the joint at the line of hair travelling downwards from his navel.

He gives his cock a perfunctory stroke, but he’s far more focussed on watching the man strip.

Arthur still isn’t sure when it first started, but he remembers feeling disgusted with himself, for jerking off to a man who doesn’t even realise what’s going on. And yet, Arthur has never been able to bring himself to close his own blinds instead.

He feels like less of a sick person if he does it while smoking.

The man’s shirt is off now, and he’s unbuttoning his jeans. Arthur’s hand begins moving a bit faster as his anticipation rises.

When he slides his boxers off though, Arthur gives up all pretence and readjusts his grip on his cock, pre-come making the glide of fingers against dick that much smoother.

The man has his back to the window now, and Arthur imagines rubbing himself between those pert cheeks before slipping inside, his cock catching on the rim of the man’s hole.

It’d be rough, with very little preparation; the man can handle it, Arthur thinks, would love it even, his eyes blown black with lust as Arthur fucks him thoroughly.

Arthur wonders if the man would be a screamer.

He tilts his head back, allowing his eyes to fall closed as he lets his imagination take over. He balances the joint carefully in his mouth, his other hand reaching down to massage his balls as he continues to jerk himself off, swiping his thumb against the slit and gasping at the jolt of pleasure it sends through him.

He imagines it’s the man’s hands on him, instead, imagines him getting on his knees and looking up at Arthur coyly before swallowing him down in one go due to his superb gag reflex. He would let Arthur fuck his mouth, because he can’t get enough of the taste.

Arthur’s orgasm hits him without warning, and he slumps back in the chair, feeling loose-limbed but hardly content.

He desperately wishes he knew the man’s name.

He puts the joint out, or at least he thinks he does; his mind is hazy due to a combination of it and his orgasm both, and Arthur allows himself to pass out where he’s sitting, uncaring of his current state of undress.

He wakes up to his throat burning and the intense blue gaze of the man staring down at him.

Arthur wants to say something, but instead breaks out into a coughing fit, and the man makes quiet soothing sounds.

“Easy,” he says once Arthur’s coughing has ceased. “There was a fire. You were unconscious, but I got you out.”

Arthur takes in the man’s yellow helmet and realises he must be a firefighter. He also realises that he apparently _didn’t_ put the joint out properly.

“Thank you,” he rasps. His throat is raw.

“I’m just glad you’re okay. The medic wants to check you over, though.”

Arthur nods, but he doesn’t want the man to go. He’s horribly aware of the fact that he’s still naked but for a blanket thrown over him.

“I’m Arthur,” he manages to get out.

The man smiles.

“Merlin.”

* * *

**46**

Morgana wakes as soon as the mattress shifts and she slides her arm into the empty, warm space next to her, curling herself into the dent of the pillow and sighing. 

"Surely, Arthur doesn’t need you before breakfast. Stay." 

His body a sharp, slim silhouette in the early morning half-light, Merlin could be one of the uni students who populate the city. He carries his age in the weight of his gaze and all of it -- their rivalries, their rebirths, their years apart -- rests on Morgana until the sound of his mobile steals Merlin's attention away.

"I should go." 

"Did he text you a picture of his dick? Is that why you're ready to leave so quickly?"

"He's the _prince._ He doesn't text anyone things -- things like that." 

Merlin tosses his mobile onto the bed, crosses his arms over his bare chest, and lifts his chin in that boyish, defiant manner he's never lost. Morgana's hand hovers over the phone; she's curious, but not curious enough to accept the dare. Instead she slips out of bed and pads over to Merlin, rests her cheek against the back of his shoulder and bushes a kiss against his skin. 

"Breakfast before you answer your summons to Clarence House? Or a coffee, at least? Cigarette? Aha." 

There are some addictions that neither time nor magic can cure; for Merlin, it's nicotine. Nicotine and Arthur, perhaps, but Morgana can remember more than one lifetime when Merlin's managed to give up Arthur. Simple, straightford craving: cigarette smoke and his lost prince. 

Morgana's addictions tangle themselves up around her again and again; the longing for recognition and affection, the warmth of Gwen's hand on her breast and the tightness of Morgause's around her wrist; the ozone-metallic tang of magic on her tongue when she kisses Merlin, and the brilliant snarl of affection, hatred, and desire that draws her to him despite resitance. 

Two cups of coffee and three times as many cigarettes later, Merlin's more mellow, even happy enough to catch Morgana's lips against his and murmur how he has enough time to wait a little longer. 

Happy enough to let Morgana light his cigarettes and touch his lips after he exhales, smoke winding around her fingers as Merlin kisses their tips.

"You should stay." Morgana puts an arm around Merlin's waist to draw him to her when he stands.

"I can't…"

"You can. You can decide to stay."

Merlin kisses the palm of her hand, the inside of her wrist, and rests his cheek against her shoulder. "I can't."

"All right." She's used to that answer; she longs for it, too, and for the reassurance that she won't grow accustomed to the taste of his mouth and the scent of his skin. "Just stay long enough, then," Morgana says and takes the cigarette from his fingers and lets the smoke twist around her head while she leans in to kiss Merlin. 

It's strange how, beneath the coffee and smoke, he always tastes the same and how he always kisses her with a distinct desperation, as if he can't get close enough to her. Merlin sighs into Morgana's mouth, and catches his breath, quick and sharp, as she moves away. 

He's already half erect; her hand on his cock, her fingers around the length of hit, coaxing him to full hardness, pull another sharp breath from his throat. 

"Not yet -- just, a little more." Merlin's voice trembles; he likes it better when she lingers, touching him and petting him, nuzzling him softly. 

Morgana likes it better when he comes hard and fast, his climax barely a breath on his lips. She'd rather his tongue inside her than his cock, his lips red, wet, and slick after eating her out and his fingers slipping inside to get her to come again, and deeper, a second time right after.

She'd rather his cock in her hand, like this, hard and hot, his hips tilting up to seek her touch even when he whimpers for more and less at the same time. Morgana gives him a little of what he wants: slides her thumb over the tip of his erection, noses into the hair behind his ear and whispers something wordless and fond, and holds him when he comes before he's ready. 

"Now you should go," she murmurs.

Face buried in her shoulder, Merlin nods.

* * *

**47**

The latch caught and rattled twice before he managed to get the shutters properly closed. Merlin brushed the droplets of rain from his face before he turned around. Arthur's eyes were glittering at him from the bed. "You're awake- it's been a week!" he said, stupidly relieved, hurrying forward to press the back of his hand to Arthur's neck. 

But no, the fever was worse. Merlin muttered a quick cooling charm on the basin of water by the bed and refreshed the useless towel on Arthur's forehead. Arthur made a soft sound, insensible; his eyes were open, but still fever-bright and barely tracking him. As the rain began to pelt down in earnest outside, Merlin swallowed back his fear, pulled down the blanket and set to work wiping down Arthur's neck, armpits and groin with a wet cloth again, taking care to avoid the blood-stained bandages on his thigh.

He lifted the loose dressings to check on the strange bite wound- Arthur's hand shot out and caught his wrist, and he had dragged Merlin across the bed and rolled over on top of him by the time he understood what he had seen: that the wound had healed over completely, leaving only luminous silvery scars where the inflamed gashes had been.

"Arthur," Merlin inhaled sharply as Arthur buried his face in his neck and sucked in air like a drowning man; when he felt the press of teeth at his throat Merlin jerked and shoved hard at his shoulders. "What are you-"

Arthur growled, hesitated, then yielded, followed the direction of Merlin's push downwards to breathe in Merlin's belly, and Merlin yelped and tried to scramble backwards, stopped when his head thumped on the headboard as Arthur growled and pressed his face between Merlin's legs. "Arthur!" and there was a high note of panic in his voice then, and Arthur froze, and with a visible effort of will, crawled slowly up Merlin's body to stare groggily in his eyes, hands framing Merlin's face in a gentle, inexorable hold.

"Merlin," he rasped out, "you smell like..." Arthur groaned, and his hips jolted spasmodically against Merlin's, pressing a hot ridge of flesh into his thigh. Merlin shivered, involuntarily pressing back into Arthur's too-warm body as Arthur panted, sipped delicately at Merlin's lips. "I- I want-" Arthur whispered into his mouth, urgent, and the slight stutter made it sound like _I need_ -

-and because their bodies fit together so perfectly, because Arthur was still gently rocking against Merlin, easing them down into the bed, and because Merlin had never wanted to say no to him, he said, "yes, please," and pulled Arthur close instead of pushing him away, and Arthur rumbled low and deep in his chest with satisfaction, turning his face to mouth Merlin's neck and jaw softly, with only the barest press of sharp teeth in the delicate skin as Merlin shivered and clutched at his back.

"-please," Arthur echoed, and rutted hard against his leg, desperate and furious. Merlin groped blindly for his belt, wanting to feel skin on skin, and Arthur caught his hand again and pulled it to palm the hot flesh between his legs. "No," he said, sudden clarity in his too-bright eyes. "If you let me- if I do this now- I think-" he broke off, panted. "I _will_ hurt you." He groaned again, piteous, drew Merlin's hand up and down to explore his hardness and the strange, unnatural swelling at the base.

It should horrify him, horrify them both, Merlin thought, remembering the diagrams and terse warnings in Gaius's bestiary, about the physical changes, the monstrous instincts- but all of this, it was too much to take in, too fast, and really, how could he care about such things when he had Arthur here, like this, and halfway to tears with the desperate need to fuck him? "You can, I don't care," he said, reckless, dizzy with want, and Arthur growled and pressed him harder into the bed, if that was possible.

"No, not tonight." Arthur glared, determined. "I can't- can't stop, can't control-" Arthur bore down between his legs and slid up, down, until he found a way to pin his hardness tightly between their bodies, and held Merlin there, and rutted into him for an eternity, until the impossible swelling finally wore down and they were both exhausted, drenched in his seed.

And again, and again, until the sun rose, and the moon set, and they finally slept.

* * *

**48**

“I want you to star in my music video for film class,” Arthur says one day while they're sitting out on the lawn drinking beers.

“Uh,” Merlin says, “okay?”

“I want to do La Tortura,” Arthur says, grinning.

“Isn't that the one where Shakira is rubbing crude oil all over her body while that dude creeps on her and eats his Chinese food?” Merlin asks, more concerned about this project than he was a minute ago.

“Yeah, that one. I already have Morgana on board,” Arthur tells him. 

Merlin only agrees because _really_ , Morgana popping her hips and rubbing herself on tables is something he would pay good money to see.

That Thursday, he shows up at the warehouse Arthur somehow, mysteriously got permission to use and it is only then that he realizes his mistake.

“You want _me_ to do all the dancing and oil-rubbing?” he nearly shouts at Arthur once Arthur has explained his grand plan. Apparently, Morgana is set to play the part of the creepy dude and all she has to do is sit back and enjoy the show.

“It was Morgana's idea. She said something about fucking with gender binaries or the norm or something. She said she was inspired by some dude called Joe Calzone.”Arthur replies, shrugging.

“Jo Calderone? Dude, that's Lady Gaga,” Merlin replies, groaning.

“What? No. Are you even listening to what I'm saying, Merlin?”

“Jo Calderone _is_ Lady Gaga. It's her alter ego or something,” Merlin tells him. Arthur gives him a really confused look, but carries on anyway.

“Whatever, it'll be fine,” he says. 

Merlin really, really doesn't believe him.

“My hips don't move like that. I can't wiggle and scoot around all sexily on tables,” Merlin whines, hours of shooting later.

“But Merlin,” Arthur smirks, “your hips don't lie.”

Merlin flings a handful of the gooey black stuff that Arthur had assured him many times over is “definitely safe to rub on your chest” and only just barely misses hitting the camera.

It takes them forever to perfect the scene where Merlin is wiggling across the kitchen table while Morgana sits back in the chair and watches because Morgana keeps cracking up half way through. Merlin simply isn't made to move gracefully, much less sexily, and it's really a problem.

Except that, somehow, it isn't. Eventually Arthur tells him “that's it, that's it” and starts flailing around like a madman. They do another three takes and on the last, Arthur goes uncharacteristically silent and starts trying to hold his hands over his crotch in this way that Merlin figures out means-

“Arthur you have an boner!” Morgana shouts, disgusted.

“Shut up!” He shouts back.

Morgana storms off disgusted. But they were mostly done anyway, so it doesn't really matter.

“I'm really sorry,” Arthur says quietly, coming over to stand next to Merlin. It's not really what he was expecting and when he looks up, the expression on Arthur's face is so adorably and utterly embarrassed. It's stupid, but the only thing Merlin can think to do right then is to kiss him. So he does.

And Arthur kisses back.

Then pushes him back against the table because Arthur can't ever let anything be sweet or nice and is always far too demanding.

“We are not having sex,” Merlin says firmly against Arthur's mouth as Arthur's roving hands slide over his chest.

“But-”

“No. You will try to use this disgusting black stuff as lube and that will end terribly for everyone involved,” Merlin continues.

Arthur pulls back looking thoroughly disappointed and pulls out his best pleading face.

“But... I guess you could suck me off,” Merlin says finally, giving in. He always gives in where Arthur is concerned.

Arthur is actually surprisingly good at sucking cock, through where he learned it, Merlin can't even begin to guess. He goes about his task with the same determined expression he usually wears when he's on his way to job interviews and if that isn't just Arthur all over, Merlin isn't entirely sure what is.

Later, Merlin takes Arthur home with him and apparently the 17 minutes it takes them to drive there, get up the stairs and unlock the door is just long enough for Arthur to get his libido back and push Merlin up against the wall just inside the door and start attacking his mouth.

Merlin tells him to wait until after he's had his shower. So naturally Arthur just follows him into the shower instead and fucks him against the tile, humming Shakira in his ear all the while. Some days Merlin has to wonder why he loves this idiot so much.

* * *

**49**

**Don’t Tap the Glass**

Arthur doesn’t see the artistry in the light fixture made of condom wrappers or the fruit-insertion photography displayed throughout Morgana’s gallery. But he sees it here; this isn’t filth or shock-entertainment – this is _art_. He’s struck breathless by the beauty of it. The small square of glass is at eye level. His first impression was that it was video screen, but Arthur’s watched long enough to know with certainty that it’s simply a window. There’s a hole cut through the wall so that the framed glass affords a view into the next room and the head of a bed where a naked man is wanking. 

_Don’t tap the glass; he’s shy._ Arthur smirks at the silver script below this particular piece of performance art. The irony of a shy exhibitionist is exactly the sort of humour Morgana has sprinkled throughout her eclectic collection: _Sexuality in Art_.

A lit cigarette dangles from the man’s pouty lips as he reaches down and grabs himself and Arthur needs to walk away. He does a quick circle of the exhibit in a futile attempt to pretend he’s not enraptured and because he’s so close to coming at the sight of the smoke and the sweat and the spread of the man’s legs. He’s been watching for far too long now, having seen the man paint his pale chest with come once, wipe himself clean, oblivious to the crowd milling around on the other side of the wall. The man simply poured himself a glass of water and lit a cigarette before lying back on the bed as if he were at home on a Saturday afternoon with nothing better to do than keep his dick in his hand.

Arthur comes back before too long. He leans on a pillar, like the casual stance will make anyone think he’s bored when he knows his face is flushed. The program he has covering his crotch isn’t going to fool anyone. He refuses to touch himself; he’s a counter-point to this exhibitionist’s utterly shameless display. He’s aching to take himself in hand. On the last circuit around the gallery he nearly stopped in the loo, but there were things that just _weren’t done_. Art gallery loo wanking was pretty much the top of Arthur’s social _faux-pas_ list.

The man’s mostly playing now; his dick’s still soft and floppy from earlier. His loose fist’s working the shaft like Arthur does on a lonely Friday night when he hasn’t decided yet if he wants to wank.

He’s watching something on the ceiling as he strokes himself. Arthur figures it’s porn playing in some big screen TV Morgana installed just for him. Whatever it is, it’s working, because there’s a tight squeeze, and the man’s starting to tug with a bit more purpose. Heat prickles at Arthur’s nape, his hair curling wetly at his ear.

The man’s free hand dips lower; Arthur can’t see but knows the angle well enough to imagine the tip of a finger pushing at his entrance. Arthur squirms, pressing the crumpled program against his throbbing dick.

The area around him is silent. Everyone’s mesmerised by the long, thick cock in the man’s fist, the play of his muscles as he strains closer and closer. Arthur’s breathing has gone ragged and he needs to walk away now if he’s going to save face, but his feet won’t move.

Morgana appears at his elbow and he clenches his teeth in a mix of humiliation and annoyance.

“You have a fan,” she says and hands him a note.

It’s a name and number. He looks to Morgana, a question on his lips, and she points up before he can even get the words out. Arthur cranes his neck and sees the black circle and the tell-tale red light of a recording camera in the rafters over his head.

In the next room, the bloke’s pumping his cock in a frantic, stuttering rhythm; his eyes are wide, staring at the ceiling. Arthur’s balls tighten. He knows exactly _who_ this bloke’s wanking to. Arthur’s losing control in this crowded exhibit with this man watching him.

“Are you going to come in your pants for him, Arthur?” Morgana whispers. “It’ll get him off, I bet.”

He shudders at the thought, bracing himself on the pillar, helpless to stop the orgasm crashing over him. His gut twists, mortified by Morgana’s throaty laugh. He watches the bloke behind the glass arch off the bed and coat his fingers.

* * *

**50**

  
**To Be Useful**  


'Just the nobles and the knights, but I want guards on every door.' Morgana's orders are crisp and clear, and as her men leap to obey, Agravaine looks askance at the kneeling residents of Camelot and asks,

'And the servants, milady?'

Morgana waves a hand dismissively. 'Let them be about their business. Our men have better things to do than care for Pendragon usurpers.'

And so when Merlin, feigning humility and a servant's proper manner, goes to Arthur's door with stale bread and water, the guards let him pass. Inside, Arthur seals a finger to his lips and takes hold of Merlin by his hips, kissing him hungrily. 

Merlin drops the food, and soon after drops his trousers, and soon after _that_ drops his silence, keening as Arthur moulds Merlin's hands to the bedpost and then proceeds to open Merlin up with his fingers in a carnal mockery of a whipping, Merlin twisting between his hands held over his head and the pads of Arthur's fingers dragging slickness inside him. 

And when Arthur pushes his cock in, too big for the stretching Merlin's had, too hot to bear, too much of what Merlin wants and just enough to sate him, he writes red marks with his fingernails down the paleness of Merlin's shoulders. Merlin claws at the bedpost just as Arthur claws at him, but Arthur's deliberate, makes marks one, two, three, four, five in a row, then moves across, adds more, like a pattern or a - Merlin realises, a map, a _plan_.

Arthur's tongue is wet and soothing when he's done with cartography; he laps over the scratches and wraps his hand around Merlin's cock, braces himself on the bedpost with his other arm so that Merlin isn't taking all their weight anymore, and he's kind now, gives Merlin what he wants - the slickness of his hand, the fullness of being fucked, consuming and safe. 

Merlin spends on the foot of Arthur's bed, his shoulders on fire, his legs shaking, and Arthur murmurs in his ear, 'You have to go to Gwaine, Merlin? Go. Go to Gwaine. He knows what to do.'

'He'll fuck me,' Merlin says, with Arthur still pushing into him over and over, seeking his own release. He's supposed to be a bedwarmer. There are listeners at the door, and there will be listeners at Gwaine's door too. They have to make a show of it, be convincing.

Arthur shoves in harder as he says it, and Merlin feels the possessiveness in his hold now, but even Arthur has to make sacrifices if they want to win Camelot back. And he knows Merlin wants this. They've talked of it before, although not not like this.

'You're a bedwarmer,' Arthur says bitterly, and if he bites Merlin's neck as he comes exactly where it'll be visible to everyone, what of it? 

Merlin, still dripping down his leg, treasures the sting of the bite, like he'd treasure anything meant just for him. He pads through the halls of Camelot and tries to remind himself why he's doing this, what's at stake, that this isn't just his fantasy.

'Your bedwarmer,' says the guard, leering, to Gwaine as he shoves Merlin through the door. 

Gwaine's face is shocked, but he realises there's more to it almost immediately.

'I don't have to -' he whispers when Merlin strips for him, but Merlin's hard again already, because of what he's about to do, what he wants, what Arthur sent him here to do, what he's _allowed_ to do, to have, just this once. 

'Please,' says Merlin, and turns around. 

Gwaine's rough hands smooth over Merlin's shoulders, counting marks, as he slides his cock into Merlin's wet, dripping arse. He's trying to be gentle. 

But Merlin is a map, a thing to be useful. A thing to be used. And he comes with Gwaine reading him, with Arthur's come and Gwaine's mingling inside him and running out, too full to hold it all. 

'You're a sight,' Gwaine murmurs, braced over Merlin lying face down in the furs and quilts of his bed. 'I always - but I never wanted this to be how we -'

'I'm a bedwarmer tonight,' says Merlin hoarsely, willing Gwaine to understand.


	6. Group C (clean)

**51**

**Frilly Round The Edges**

Arthur's well past bladdered, well past clinging to walls and seeing things in dimensions no one's quite discovered yet. Well past the music on the system too. Well past all of it, Gwen and the covert little kisses in the dark alcoves and the shush shush of keeping their affair secret while everyone else was practically making out on the dancefloor.

He was already hard when he walked in, harder when he inched along the side of the bar because Gwen and her chaste do-no-wrong left him chubbed up in his trousers and looking for more while she'd pushed his hand away and told him to shove it. Politely, of course, always polite and still whispering how much she loved him.

He'd not meant to stumble in, hadn't meant to leave her standing there swaying along to the music and waiting for him to come back with something frilly for her.

He'd not meant any of it, but now he couldn't look away in the club next door. Hard in too tight trousers and the rest of the world way too far outside the door, he stood and stared and stared some more, until someone jostled him hard, shoulder into his back making him swivel around, fist at the ready to smash into a too pretty face on a bloke. The bloke shrank away, confused.

A hand curled around the nape of his neck, threaded into his hair, pulling, and turned him away. 

"No need for that," a voice said, breath hot and damp against his ear.

Arthur pushed against the touch but the fingers tightened on the nape of his neck and drew him away: away from the bar and the dancefloor, into the darker alcoves and corners of the club, where the music was a steady low thump in the floor and the walls and less tone than noise.

When Arthur turned around to catch his first glimpse of who the hand belonged to, smoke curled up his chest, to his face, and caught in the strands of hair hanging in front of his eyes. 

He'd seen the bloke around, at his father's do's, the little parties and get-togethers of the wannabe-influentials, the future movers and shakers. 

"Fancy meeting you," the bloke said, and added, "Gwaine," for a name as if that meant more to Arthur than the swishy hair and the lean against the wall that pushed Gwaine's crotch out towards Arthur's body. "Hm, liking it aren't you?"

Arthur muttered something about Gwen next door and the stumble to the loos, or for more beer, ending with him walking out of one club and into another, but Gwaine just exhaled past the side of Arthur's face and pulled him in closer to Gwaine's (naked) chest. 

"Shh," Gwaine whispered into Arthur's ear, voice ripe with smoke, "shhh." 

He reeked of sweat (good, that), so different to Gwen that Arthur didn't think to question all the other blokes in the club, the lack of shirts and the prominence of crotches and hands in the back of jeans. He didn't think to question anything, only (foolishly) chased the smoke from Gwaine's cigarette with his lips until Gwaine's hand at the back of Arthur's neck pushed him down.

Kneecaps to floor and lips to jeans-covered crotch registered next, then the sharp edges of the zipper against Arthur's chin, and tasting Gwaine, thinking Gwen, brain too lazy to catch up with the pussy on his tongue being a cock down his throat.

Arthur had seen Gwaine at his father's, watched him talk smart, talk bullshit.

"Good, that," Gwaine said above him, talking smart and talking bullshit, still guiding Arthur along as if he was driving Uther's investment to tripled profits, with more experience than his MBA and his pseudo-smart talk let on.

Gwaine sucked on his cigarette in-between, smoke blowing into Arthur's face and Arthur soaked it up with the scent of his sweat and the platitudes and the come. "I'll keep you here, won't let you go back over. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

And maybe Gwaine had been watching him as much as he'd been watching Gwaine at his father's parties, crotch prominent in suit trousers, tie pointing towards the target. Maybe. 

"Can't," Arthur thought he said around the cock and over the sound of the bass. Can't because "Gwen", because "things", but with the cock in his mouth he couldn't bring the words out.

He blinked upwards, eyes tearing up, until he closed them. Better that way.

* * *

**52**

Arthur normally takes these stairs three at a time, but not tonight. He’s dreading going up to the studio, but goddamn it, he’s never backed away from anything in his life. He’s not about to start now. Especially not now.

From above, _Rage Against the Machine_ pounds through the double brick, and Arthur feels it inside his chest like a punch to the lungs; Merlin only plays that shit when he’s livid.

Climbing up to the mezzanine takes too long and not long enough, and he wants to burst through the door and sneak in unnoticed, just to gauge how bad things are.

The volume from inside indicates DEFCON 2, one step away from open war. If Merlin’s rage was directed at Arthur, he’d be expecting to have his eyeballs gouged out with a rusty spoon and mailed to his mother in time for Christmas. Merlin is an easy-going person, open and mild. But when he loses his shit, it’s Godzilla style.

Arthur sets his jaw and slides the door open, the wall of noise slapping him in the face.

Inside, it’s carnage. Arthur’s stomach crawls into his throat. “Fucking hell,” he groans, unheard over the eardrum annihilation. Merlin’s beautiful, colourful canvases lie strewn all over the place like trees uprooted by a typhoon, as though Merlin punted them across the warehouse, not giving a shit where they land. They’re scattered everywhere, turned into projectiles by Merlin’s rage.

Arthur’s eyes slide over the debris, mind flipping through ways to torture and maim arsehole art critics.

Movement against the far wall attracts his attention and he stops in his tracks, noting several important elements.

Merlin is painting.

Directly onto the wall.

In black.

He’s completely starkers.

Arthur assesses silently. Merlin’s naked body stretches like a tightly coiled spring as he throws himself around, following the lead of his angry brush. He’s sinew and bone, ridges and angles, but there’s power in his strong shoulders and back, and beauty in the tensile harmony of it all.

Broad, vicious strokes drip paint everywhere, all over the floor and all over Merlin, but it’s the deliberate brush strokes all over his body which have all of Arthur’s attention; stripes of black rage adorn wiry limbs and narrow hips, dragged carelessly across his skin.

Stepping carefully around the canvases, Arthur nears, thinking himself unnoticed. He has no time to react when Merlin spins, splattering a rough brush across Arthur’s chest, dividing him in two with a thick, black median.

Arthur feels Merlin’s savage eyes deep and low in his belly and doesn’t back down. He shows Merlin his teeth instead.

He seizes Merlin’s wrist in his large hand and flicks it to slap the paintbrush hard on his own cheek. It’s cold and startling, and he loves it. His mouth falls open as he drags black paint over his chin, his throat, his expensive shirt.

Merlin’s dark hawk’s eyes track each flicker of emotion like prey. He grasps a handful of Arthur’s shirt, then forces his hand between buttons to worry a tight nipple between dirty fingers. It’s like holding a lit match to Arthur’s tinder.

He takes Merlin’s mouth the way he takes everything he wants, thoroughly, brutally, vaguely amazed at how fast--how _always_ \--Merlin makes him flare, and catch, and burn.

Within moments, they’re on an upturned canvas on the floor, smearing each other with fistfuls of black, Arthur’s shirt torn open and flapping, breath ragged in the cold. The acrylic is an acrid icepick through his nose but his mind is hot and frenzied, full of Merlin’s wild eyes, black hands and white stomach, the rigid insistence of his cock against the juncture of Arthur’s thigh.

Sucking bitter paint from Merlin’s nipple, Arthur slides his solid body between Merlin’s legs, pinning him down, filthy fingers tracing the cleft of his arse, painting Merlin slippery black inside and out to match his mood.

He works his big fingers the way Merlin likes, with the edge of hysteria making it raw and primal. Merlin pants through his nose and grunts through gritted teeth until Arthur’s thick cock, glistening black with paint, splits him open. Arthur drives himself in and in and _in_ , and _fuck_ , it’s _tight_ , _hot_ and _sweet Jesus_ , until there’s nothing in Merlin’s eyes but Arthur's reflection, and nothing on Arthur’s mind except fucking the rage out of him, easing down the snarling, black fury.

 _I’ve got you_ , Arthur thinks, hips deliberate and rough, just so. _I’m here. I’ve got you._

* * *

**53**

Morgana has a morning routine. She brushes her hair and her teeth, washes her face over her pedestal sink. She sits on a cushioned stool to slip on her stockings, making certain to keep the seam straight, then draws on her panty girdle and closes her brassiere. After that, she chooses her dress and shoes. 

Today she wears periwinkle, a blue so delicate it almost blends in with the wallpaper. Modest black pumps complete the ensemble, but she isn’t finished until she pinks her lips and cheeks, tying her hair back with a light blue ribbon.

+

“Darling, the Penns just rang. Are we available for dinner tomorrow evening?” Morgana raps on the door of Merlin’s study, hoping not to startle him. Bent over his desk, muttering to himself, he doesn’t appear to have heard her at all. “Merlin?” she says. He jerks, his soldering iron tumbling from his hand only to freeze an inch from the floor. He glances around, sheepish.

“Sorry,” he says, iron floating back to his palm. “I know how you hate singe marks on the carpet.” 

Morgana feels her brow dip, but she smiles. “Dinner with the Penns tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes,” Merlin says, waving her away. “That’s fine, we’ll have them over here, shall we?” 

Morgana entertains the ungracious impulse to protest — they’d hosted last time, after all — but Merlin has already turned back to his work.

+

Later in the evening, Merlin sets down his drink and book to smile at her. “My lovely bell.”

Morgana smiles back from the kitchen door, stripping off her dishwashing gloves. When he beckons she perches on the arm of his chair, accepting a small kiss, and another. He takes her hand when she begins to unbutton his shirt. “Let’s go to bed?” 

Morgana enjoys him on top of her, inside her — she does. She likes his body and his sweetness and the pinch of his eyes when he spends. 

It’s a shame she so often goes to sleep frustrated.

+

“Morgana, how are you?” Gwen embraces her in the hall while Arthur and Merlin shake hands. Morgana had opted for her rose dress and pink ribbon tonight. Gwen looks lovely in a startling goldenrod number with cap sleeves.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Arthur says, noticing Morgana’s admiration. Gwen rolls her eyes but Merlin agrees, and Morgana proclaims her gorgeous, far too good for her brother. 

After dinner, in the sitting room, Gwen asks after her magic. 

“It’s...fine,” Morgana says, smoothing her dress. 

“You haven’t used it, have you?” 

“Merlin doesn’t approve. He worries.” 

“Arthur didn’t approve of my tinkering at first, either.” 

“What did you do?” Morgana asks.

Gwen looks at her like she doesn’t quite understand the question. “I did it anyway.” 

It takes a moment, but then, _oh_. 

What a novel thought.

+

The routine starts the same. Hair, teeth, face. Stockings and brassiere. Then Morgana pauses.

She chooses a thin girdle that lets her attach her garters, but forgoes the panties. After that it’s the emerald dress, the red pumps. 

Her lipstick is crimson. She leaves her cheeks pale, her hair loose. She wraps a handful of ribbons around her palm.

+

Merlin jumps when Morgana runs her fingers through his hair. “Darling?”

“Shh.” Morgana leans down and kisses him. After a long moment he tries to gently push her away. So she bites his lip, startling him into opening his mouth. He tastes warm and floral, like his favorite tea. 

“Morgana, what?” Merlin gasps when she finally pulls back. She shows him the rainbow stack of ribbons in her hand, and he looks even more confused until they leap to his arms, coiling around his wrists, tugging him out of his chair and onto his desk. “Morgana!” he yelps when she tugs open his trouser placket. 

She uses her mouth, because he’s never let her before. It makes him stiffen so fast she resolves to finish him like that one day, just to see what it’s like. Not tonight. 

Tonight she climbs over his hips and sits on his prick. The genuine _shock_ on his face makes her laugh. The only hiccup happens after about five minutes of hard riding: when he shouts, arching beneath her. She’d come close — just not that close.

So she sits in his chair, ties his arms to its legs with her ribbons, and keeps his head under her skirt until he finishes her with his tongue. Twice.

+

“How are things?” Gwen asks over the phone. Morgana smiles to herself, hair coiling about her shoulders.

“As they should be.”

* * *

**54**

Waiting

The weather on the Isle was as temperate as ever.

No need for food, no need for water. Dead, stagnant, and dull.

The cushion of grass was soft under his bare body and gentle waves lapped soothingly at the shore, it mocked his restlessness with its serenity. He was eager for something, anything, to happen. It just **had** to. The discontent rose almost daily now and so he kept half an eye on the horizon in hopes of discovering exactly what it was he was supposed to be waiting for. That’s what he was doing, waiting.

Another surge of irritation washed over him and with it came the vivid image of a man, always the same man. Arthur didn’t know him but he always seemed to appear at these times. Dark hair, pale skin, and bright flashing eyes. He felt his thighs flex in response to the imagery and abruptly he was angry that he didn’t know the man’s name. Only that he was infuriating and his mouth, _his **mouth**_... it never fucking closed, not unless it was full.

Some long forgotten instinct made him tense at that thought, made him pause.

It’s inappropriate.

It’s “ _not done_ ”.

Yes, worse than touching yourself one simply just _does not_ picture the pale slopes and angles of a man’s body with pleasure. One _must not_ shiver at the thought of that leanly muscled form flexing helplessly under the weight of your body as you force it carefully, slickly, open.

He did though, always. It was the only thing that made him feel alive in this godforsaken paradise. He had no clue how he came to be here or why, only that he could never seem to leave.

As always abstract and fragmented memory faded quickly when faced with the painfully real sensation of damp skin and rough calluses against his rigid length. Instinctively his hand had already begun to move roughly over the wet tip and he panted and watched as it pulsed and twitched in response to his anxious, needy pleasure. He bit his fist to cut off a too loud groan.

The things he imagined, that he **_wanted_** , they were abominable.

He’d have him on his knees, bent forward and pinned in place with Arthur’s hand against the back of his neck. The sharp cut of the man’s hip would be tightly gripped in the other to hold him steady, hold him still, as Arthur pistoned forward in a relentless rhythm. The sloppy wet sound of his thrusts were loud in his mind, almost too filthy to be imagined. Yet it must be, pure fancy, because it wouldn’t actually be like that, couldn’t possibly be that-- _good_.

Could it?

Already he was sweating and his heels dug grooves into the ground with every brutal thrust into his hand, into the sweet wet suck of phantom flesh. It was madness how clear the vision was. Arthur could _hear_ him. Deep, guttural groans half muffled by the bedding and soft panting breaths. Even the dark, ominous creak of wood was crisply audible and it just made him grasp harder, pull faster, at his aching red cock until sharp throb of release was just within reach.

Then, inevitably, the vision left. It faded into the depths of his broken memory just as suddenly as it had appeared and left him splayed out on the beach, hot and wanting for something that didn’t exist anywhere in the crumbling ruins or green depths of the island. Angrily he forced himself to an unfulfilling peak and lay there gasping in frustration.

Then, as if summoned by the strength of his dissatisfaction, a dark shape in the water caught his eye. He stood to approach the strange vessel, the likes of which he’d never seen, floating in invitation by the rocks. Whoever the man was Arthur knew only two things, he bruised beautifully and he needed him with a surprising desperation.

Arthur was resolved, he was **done** waiting.

* * *

**55**

Arthur went still when he came, silent and frozen over Merlin. Every line of his body strained in perfect tension, every bit of flesh and bone and thought focused only on his orgasm. The only movement between them was the sluggish spurt of come into Merlin's arse and the drop of sweat rolling down Arthur's nose.

Merlin held just as still to better concentrate on Arthur's finish. He loved Arthur's orgasms, especially when he'd already had at least one of his own.

Finally, Arthur fell in a heap at Merlin's side. "Unh. So hot."

"Yeah, it was." Merlin stretched, working out the bits that had gone stiff and sore.

"I mean the temperature in this room, you insatiable tart."

Merlin laughed. His skin prickled with heat and sweat, but unlike Arthur, he loved the discomfort of it. Above him, the ceiling fan spun with a gentle whum-whum-whum, stirring the warm air just enough to ease their breathing.

He slapped the back of his hand on Arthur's chest, palm up. His fingers bent repeatedly in a gesture mistakable for a kung-fu challenge. Arthur interpreted it correctly and sighed.

"Filthy habit," he said.

Merlin twitched his fingers again until Arthur reached over to the night table for the pack of fags Merlin had dropped there before they'd gotten into bed. He slapped it into Merlin's hand. "There. Don't even think about kissing me after that."

He hummed and left his hand on Arthur's chest while his fingers wiggled a cigarette out of the packet. "All right. I'll wait until you kiss me."

"Ha."

Merlin let the rest of the pack tumble from his fingers down to the bed on the other side of Arthur's body. He waved the cigarette in the air over Arthur.

"I understand how it would confuse you, Merlin, but I'm not your bloody servant. Quite the contrary, if you recall."

"Yes, and I'm your dirty little secret. Doesn't that earn me any privileges, my lord?" 

He put the cigarette between his lips. It hung there until he heard a click and a snap. Arthur's family crest came into blurred view, embossed in sterling on the lighter Arthur still carried on him months after he'd quit.

Merlin hummed his thanks as his ciggie ignited. He steadied it between his fingers and took a long, blissful drag.

Whoever had come up with the idea of cigarettes after sex had really been onto something, he thought. The warm rush of smoke in his lungs gentled his dancing nerves after the pounding stimulation of getting fucked.

"You think because you're so young that it's all right. But just wait until you try to quit later."

Another, harder drag made his throat sting. He felt hot inside and out now. A slow prickle ran through his body on both sides of his skin.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to get hard again, so he reached down between his legs and started massaging himself. Gentle squeezes, just getting the blood going.

"You've got to be kidding."

Yep, it was stirring nicely now, sore but pleased at the attention. He'd have to push it a little, though. Letting the cigarette dangle from the corner of his mouth, he brought both hands between his legs and started working himself up. Just one more orgasm and he could nap the rest of the afternoon away.

"I fucked the daylights out of you. I fucked you like an Olympic fucking champion."

Merlin tilted his head back and smiled as much as he could without losing his ciggie. Arthur's fucking had been good and hard and deeply satisfying. In fact, the more Merlin thought about how deeply Arthur had satisfied him, the bigger his cock grew.

His body started to undulate when he was fully erect, and that was when Arthur finally groaned and rolled back on top of him. Merlin opened his eyes and took one last deep drag off his cigarette before Arthur took it out of his mouth and set it aside.

He let smoke burn in his lungs until Arthur's lips nudged his mouth open. Then he let it gust into Arthur's mouth and felt Arthur's chest surge as Arthur drew every last wisp from him. 

Arthur lifted his head and closed his eyes, groaning as he exhaled and sent the last of the smoke swirling into the afternoon sunlight. When he rocked between Merlin's thighs, he was already half hard. 

Merlin wrapped his legs around Arthur's waist and reached for the cigarette again.

* * *

**56**

**Paint It Merthur**

“ _Mer_ lin. Stop squirming. You’re messing it up.”

Merlin giggled as the bristles of the thick paintbrush slid across his chest. “I can’t help it. Tickles.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and continued brushing wide black lines over his boyfriend’s body. He knew Merlin had only agreed to this once he’d learned what he’d actually have to do. He’d always been a bloody exhibitionist at heart. 

With one last swipe across Merlin’s thigh—and ignoring the little wiggle of hips that followed—Arthur sat back and took in his work. Finding it satisfactory he hopped up and grabbed his camera from its place on the table and gestured his hand at Merlin.

“On your back for the first few I think. No, arm out to your side. Knee up.”

“Like this?” Merlin lifted one knee to hide his naked groin and stretched out his arm toward Arthur. Arthur nodded absently, already sucked into the world behind his lens. Soon the room was silent but for their breathing and the click of the shutter.

Merlin took in a deep breath, trying to keep calm. He’d known how Arthur could always get this intense look when he worked, but having it directed at him like that. It was intoxicating. By the time Arthur made him move into another pose he was already half hard. His leg had hid it earlier but now on his knees in front of Arthur there was no hiding it. He couldn’t deny the little thrill that shot up his spine as he watched Arthur look on hungrily at his growing erection. 

He smirked at little as Arthur’s face morphed determinedly into a glare. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.

“Take care of that would you. This isn’t porn.”

Merlin hummed thoughtfully, trying to think of things to will his dick down. It was rather difficult with his boyfriend _right there_. “You know, this could be considered soft porn in some circles.” 

Arthur gave him a withering look and retreated behind his camera again. “Though I’m sure you would love to, we are not doing porn of any kind. Will you please cover yourself already? I don’t want any bit of your cock to end up in these pictures.”

“Aw, not even a little bit?” Merlin smiled and shimmied his hips from side to side. He still half hard member shifted ridiculously with his movements, making Arthur break his air of _professionalism_ with a laugh. 

“Merlin. Seriously. Come on.”

“Come on what? You’re way over there,” But he grinned and cupped his hand over his groin anyway. He lifted his other arm up to tangle a hand in his hair. Giving Arthur his most over-the-top sultry look he said, “Are you going to paint me like one of your French girls, Arthur?”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin burst out laughing. “Sorry, sorry. Shutting up now.”

Arthur widened his eyes in annoyance. Whose idea had this been again? Oh, yeah. His own. Cursing himself for thinking he could work with Merlin’s ridiculousness, Arthur went back to lining up his shots. But of course, even in self induced quiet, Merlin could not keep his mouth shut for long. Oddly it was one of the things Arthur loved about him.

“Can we fuck now?”

“We’ve only done a few shots.”

“But we haven’t had sex in a week Arthur. _A week!_ ” The way Merlin whined about it, it was something unspeakable. Something unheard of. How in the universe could this happen!? Then he followed it up with a pout that he knew— _knew_ , damn it—would work every time with Arthur.

“Please?”

Arthur huffed a laugh and set aside his camera. He crawled across the floor to his grinning, painted boyfriend, pulling off his shirt as he went. He pulled up close to Merlin and dragged a hand down his chest, smearing the paint.

“I’m gonna get all covered in paint too.”

Merlin hummed before he wrapped an arm around Arthur’s neck, pulling the larger man to settle between his thighs. “Guess we’ll just have to take a shower after, then.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Arthur trailed off as he slid a hand down Merlin’s thigh to the wet, stretched entrance of his boyfriend. He raised an eyebrow at him. Merlin raised his in return. 

“A _week_ Arthur. I had to get by with only our _toys_. For a _week_.”

* * *

**57**

The best things about days off, Gwaine thought, was the way he was home when Merlin got back from work. It was quite nice, actually. Brilliant, even, on days like this when the sky had been grey all day, finally giving in to rain some time around noon, and Merlin would need cheering up when he finally got home, wet and miserable, because of course he had left his umbrella by the door.

Gwaine was very good at cheering Merlin up. It was his super power, really.

"Good thing," Merlin said, his voice coming from somewhere near the front door, "is that I've learned never to let anyone I might be bringing with me in without checking what you're up to first."

"Mmm, yeah, _up_ to," Gwaine muttered from the corner of his mouth, his lips mostly occupied by the cigarette between them. He kept his eyes shut and did another languid stroke down the length of his cock.

"Nudge nudge, wink wink," Merlin said and Gwaine could hear him walking closer, dropping his jacket on the floor, the soft sound followed with a thud from his bag. "Well, at least you opened the window to let the rain in."

"To let the smoke out, you mean," Gwaine said. He kept his eyes shut, feeling the cold wind against his face and Merlin's gaze on his body. "I think I feel a draft," he said when Merlin grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth. "Come on, warm me up." He could feel a puff of warm breath over his cheek when Merlin laughed before dipping down and kissing the side of his neck.

"You're on display," Merlin said, his lips moving against Gwaine's skin. "I bet there's some old lady in the building next to us, with a pair of binoculars."

"I like to think this is my small way of contributing to the neighbourhood," Gwaine said. 

"With porn," Merlin said.

"Well, what have _you_ done for your neighbours lately? You're just all about _you_ , aren't you? Never a thought to your fellow human beings."

Merlin kissed his shoulder, his hand sliding over Gwaine's chest, down over his belly until Gwaine could feel Merlin's fingers tugging at the coarse hairs above his cock. He pushed his hips towards the touch a little.

"Do you have any suggestions how I should remedy the situation?" Merlin asked, and Gwaine could hear the laughter in his voice.

"Yes, that's easy. Suck my cock," he answered cheerfully. "Right now. I misjudged the time you came home and I've been hard for _ages_ already."

"Ages?" Merlin asked and Gwaine opened his eyes just in time to see Merlin kneel down between his legs.

"At least ten minutes. Also, where did you put my cigarette?"

Merlin placed a kiss on Gwaine's belly, his chest rubbing against his cock. "Lung cancer. Lung cancer and hairy palms, Gwaine. That's your destiny," he said, before licking a wet stripe along Gwaine's cock, making it very hard for Gwaine to argue.

"Not while you're here to rescue me," he managed to get out before Merlin's thumb on the tip of his penis made him give up talking.

"Well, _yeah_ ," Merlin said and took Gwaine all the way into his mouth.

* * *

**58**

"What, you do not think I can do it?" Morgana smirked as Gwen stroked her naked thigh. They had ridden away from the castle to enjoy one another's company without the constant watch that seemed to always be around Gwen's mistress. Stretched out on the rug Gwen had brought the two women disrobed and enjoyed one another. 

"I did not say you could not, I said that you should not." Gwen smiled. 

"I used to climb trees all the time when I was younger." She stated. 

"Yes, and I'm sure you climbed higher than Arthur." she countered.

"How did you guess?" Morgana smiled and climbed the tree nude. Hanging down she laughed at Gwen. "See?"

"I see you have scratches." Gwen replied, getting up and walking over to the other woman. "Here and here." She said, kissing the parts of Morgana's legs that had small cuts on them from the tree bark. Morgana hung onto the limb, as she didn't wish to fall. 

"You are taking advantage!" She laughed, and readjusted her grip on the branch.

"You put yourself there." Gwen countered, trailing her fingers up Morgana's legs to her vagina, carefully spreading the folds and placing a gentle kiss on her clit. The shock almost made her lose her grip, when Gwen placed her other hand over Morgana's. "No, you are going to stay there." and continued to tease her gently with her tongue. It was fun to watch Morgana squirm. Alone they could let down the act of lady and servant and just be themselves. 

"I should climb higher." 

"You should stay where you are." Now was Gwen's turn to smirk and gently nipped her on her inner thigh. Stopping, she slowly moved her kisses down Morgana's belly and breasts until she was kneeling face to face with the woman. "How about you come down now?" She asked.

Morgana looked thoughtful for a moment then released her grip. Gwen helped her down and led her back to the rug. "You look a mess." She said, leaning over her and settled on top of her. Darker skin to lighter, breast to breast. 

"Say I fell off my horse." Morgana teased.

"And who would believe that?" She repled, letting her hand slip back down to where Morgana was warm, wet, and open only for her. Inserting her fingers she made Morgana gasp and press herder into Gwen's touch. "I should punish you for being a spoiled princess today."

"Maybe I like being punished?" Morgana said, kissing Gwen gently on the side of her neck and trailing her finger over a hard nipple.

"Oh no, you are not getting your way out of this." Gwen replied, pulling her fingers away from Morgana. "It would be more of a punishment if I leave you wanting."

"You always leave me wanting." She replied honestly. "Please?" she asked, carefully pulling on Gwen's hair and spreading her legs slightly to invite the other woman closer.

"Of course, My Lady." Gwen answered and placed her tongue back over the hard nub to pleasure her mistress.

* * *

**59**

When Merlin turns to Arthur, the gold in his eyes is swirling away into blue, but the light of the fading fire catches there anyway. As always now, Arthur is awed and fascinated by it.

“Now we wait,” Merlin says in the language Arthur understands, overlaying the spell on the night air he did not.

“For what?” Arthur knows the ritual isn’t yet complete.

“The sun.” 

They press together on the bedroll for warmth, the flames dying as heat is lost to the dark. Merlin tells Arthur not to worry, they’re tucked away safe in a very special grove, but Arthur doesn’t sleep. He keeps watch while Merlin rests.

In the dim grey of morning, Merlin stirs. He’s quiet, gathering what he needs and setting up beside the cooled, charred logs. Merlin’s language fills the still air, quiet and reverent, his eyes flashing. 

It’s always a kick to Arthur’s gut seeing Merlin like this, to _know_ this is truly him. Strong, powerful, a respect for magic woven in every breath. Arthur listens to learn.

Merlin removes all his clothing. In the growing light, he is naked amongst the trees, gorgeous pale skin and long lines, kneeling in front of a long extinguished fire that’s taken on the quality of an alter. 

“Before the Gods and my King,” Merlin says, bowing his head at Arthur, “I am yours. Always.”

He’s breathtakingly beautiful, and Arthur is honoured. He bows his head in return. To not disturb, his prayer for Merlin is silent but familiar on his mind.

Merlin picks up one of the logs, dipping the end in the small bowl of water. He uses it to paint his body, the wet soot smearing over his chest, arms and thighs, thick lines mixed with errant smudges. Merlin speaks more magic, loud and strong. The grey ash starts to shimmer, a rippling gold that matches his eyes trailing all over him. With a final burst, the lines all shine bright, then fade to sharp black.

Arthur swallows hard, unblinking. The magic on the air makes the hair on his arms stand up. Warmth and want for Merlin pools in his belly, but now is not the time.

“It is done,” Merlin announces. “Let’s leave this place.”

He dresses, loose clothes over dirty marks. As much as he wants to, Arthur can tell not to question or push anything that moment. He can wait. They walk, subdued, until it’s past mid-day. Arthur’s led them to a stream.

“Perhaps you should clean up.”

“I should.” Merlin strips down for a second time that day and shoots Arthur a playful look. “Coming?”

There he is, the approachable Merlin that Arthur adores even more than the powerful one. Arthur’s quick to join him in the cool stream. Scooping up water, they rid Merlin of the soot. Arthur rubs his wet hands over as much of Merlin’s skin as possible, dirty or not. Meandering rivulets trail over his skin in ashy paths until it’s all gone, washed away in the gentle current. When Arthur continues to touch, Merlin’s breath starts to hitch and he presses closer.

After Arthur kisses Merlin, deep and exploring, Merlin whispers against his lips, desperate. “Arthur, _please_.” 

Under the surface, Arthur takes Merlin’s cock in hand. In slow, languid pulls, Arthur brings him to full hardness, causing Merlin to shiver beneath his caresses. Merlin groans, and peppers Arthur’s mouth with fast kisses. 

Merlin strokes Arthur’s cock too. Earlier, Arthur hadn’t allowed himself to really think about it, the timing too inappropriate, but it’s been there since the morning, since the magic, a dull thrum in the back of his mind and between his legs. Wet skin and deep kisses have only urged it on.

They stroke each other in a teasing tandem, and it’s Merlin who comes first with a muffled cry, face pressed against Arthur’s neck. His body shudders against Arthur’s. He heaves for breath, but his strong strokes don’t falter until Arthur comes, Merlin’s name on his lips released into the afternoon.

“Will it work?” Arthur asks of the ritual, his forehead against Merlin’s as he tries to catch his breath. The cool water swirls around them, washing them both clean again.

“Yes,” Merlin answers softly. “Thank you for being there.”

Arthur answers with a kiss. Anything to keep Merlin safe.

When they’re back on the bank, Merlin says, “You should rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Arthur trusts him and so he does. He dreams of soot and water and everlasting kisses.

* * *

**60**

Morgana pulled herself out of bed, collecting her cigarettes and lighter on the way. She perched on the window sill, and brought one knee up to her chest. She lit up, and took the first wonderful drag. As she turned her head to blow the smoke out of the window, she saw Leon get up.

She watching Leon walk toward the window, dropping to kneel in front of her. 

Leon looked at her – she was aware that she hadn’t cleaned up after their session in the bed, she was still slick with come and her fluids. It was slightly uncomfortable but she was lazy and, well, now it looked like Leon was going to help her out. Leon loved eating her out, she knew, he’d happily do it whenever and wherever she asked. 

His stubble scratched the inside of her thighs as he shuffled closer. Morgana shifted, making herself more comfortable. 

Leon leaned forward and tongued her gently. Morgana took a deep breath in. She steeled herself and carried on smoking, turning her head again to direct the smoke vaguely out of the window. She was going to finish this cigarette and Leon would deal with it. 

She looked down at the dirty blonde head in between her legs. He moaned as his tongue dipped inside her, licking his come out of her. 

_Filthy boy_ she thought, stretching into the warm tingling feeling. She gasped as he flicked at her clit, sucking on the hood gently. She took another drag of her cigarette, savouring the burn.

Warm hands came up to stroke along her thighs. She shivered again, spreading herself wider. She loved Leon’s hands, the way his callouses dragged along her skin. He lifted her leg over his shoulder, and she rubbed her heel down his spine.

She pulled at one arm, directing it to her breasts. Leon looked up at her, face still half buried in her cunt, and pinched her nipple gently. She felt it all the way down to her toes, and slid one hand through his curls, tugging slightly. 

Leon groaned in response and she felt him press a finger deep inside her. She took one last drag on her cigarette before blindly stubbing it out in the ashtray on the side.

She could feel herself getting wetter, hotter, and she ground forward, pushing against Leon’s face. He just took it, pressing back harder. He shoved his fingers in deeper, pressing down just right and, _fuck, that’s it._

She could feel herself tense, she was so close. She arched, head hitting the glass behind her. Leon made a noise, but she dug her heel into his back and he didn’t stop. She had one moment to think _good, so good_ before she came. She felt herself pulse around him before she relaxed all at once, panting. She shuddered as Leon lapped at her, tongue gentle. 

He stood up, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, licking the wetness off his lips. She pulled him into a kiss, still shivery and sensitive. 

“Fuck, I need another cigarette.”

* * *

**61**

_"You've had your fun, my friend."_

...

 _"I'm Guinevere, but most people call me Gwen?"_

...

 _Pass me that dress, will you Gwen?_

***

Merlin woke, feeling disoriented. The ceiling hung above him, incongruously white and normal.

Normal.

His hands dug into the bedsheets. What had he been dreaming?

***

"Going in early?" his da asked, as Merlin snatched a piece of hot toast and juggled it, blowing on his fingers.

"Yeah." He didn't say, _I couldn't get back to sleep._

His fingers trailed over mum's picture on the way out. She looked the same as ever.

***

Uni was normal. Birds sang, people walked to class laughing, and Merlin dropped his mobile twice. Perfectly normal.

...Until he woke, confused, to find himself in the library, surrounded by too much quiet and a jumble of memories of a different library, books all written by hand.

He went home early.

***

 _"You still up to the same old magic tricks again?"_

Merlin woke suddenly, gasping, tears on his face. "Mum," he said, but the face in his mind was Will's.

***

"I can't believe you texted me at three in the morning," Will complained, but he settled down on the floor by Merlin's bed anyway. "If your da knew I snuck in the window like a kid, he'd have a fit."

"Sorry," Merlin muttered, though he wasn't. Will's body was solid and real beside where he lay, giving off heat and annoyance and sleep breath. It said _I'm alive_ in ways no mere words on a screen could. Merlin reached out across the sheets, fingers brushing the short ends of Will's hair.

"I'll get a new mobile number," Will threatened, but he leaned back and let Merlin card fingers through his hair. Then, quieter, "Nightmare again?"

Merlin didn't answer, but he did lean forward. Will looked at him assessingly for a moment before giving in, twisting and shifting up so their mouths could meet.

The angle was awkward for a moment, but then Will tilted his head a bit further and they clicked into place, lips slip-sliding open. Merlin grabbed onto Will's arms in mute plea, and got a brief grumble against his tongue before Will shoved up and settled on top of him, clothes rucked and wrinkled between them.

"What do you want?" Will asked quietly.

Merlin shook his head, pulling on Will's arms again, and Will gave a little ironic chuckle.

"Clingy bastard." But he wrapped one arm around Merlin anyway, reaching between them to free their cocks from their trousers. "Care to do some of the work this time?"

Merlin shook his head, but he could feel his heartbeat settling, finding the rhythm of Will's hand and Will's pounding pulse. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of Will's neck. Merlin licked at the drop and found it tasted like tears.

Will's hand sped up, squeezed them both at the same time, a little too hard. Merlin gasped and came with a jerk, curling up.

***

"It's been a while since you had a bad night," Will said later, one arm flung across Merlin's belly. "Did something happen?"

Merlin stayed silent for a moment, then reluctantly admitted, "I dreamed."

Will blinked. "About what?"

"I don't remember." It's a lie. Mostly. Merlin doesn't remember what happened, but he remembers how he felt.

"You've always dreamed," Will countered.

The words are hard like stone, painful to spit out. "In my dreams now. I'm. I can." Merlin breathes. "I can move things with my mind. I can make fire. I can fly."

"Lots of people can fly in their dreams."

Merlin shook his head. "Not like this. It's. There's something different."

Will tugs him closer, hooks a chin over his shoulder. 

"I don't want to dream anymore," Merlin admitted, staring up at the white, white ceiling. "It scares me."

***

Gwen put out the candles, then turned away.

"Good night, my lady," she said from the doorway.

"Good night," Morgana whispered, closing her eyes...

..."Good morning!" Gorlois called from downstairs. "Ready for breakfast?"

Morgana grabbed a fistful of sheets and breathed.

* * *

**62**

**Shower Shenanigans**

“For the love of bloody fuck!” Arthur shouted through the bathroom door while looking at his watch for the twentieth time. “I have to shower right now, Merlin! I’m going to be late!”

Merlin’s response was watery and amused. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be out in a tick. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Arthur growled and leant against the door jamb. “If you’re not out in two minutes, I’m coming in there and forcibly removing you!” He heard Merlin chuckle and scowled at the door. “I’m _serious_!”

Under normal circumstances, Arthur’s living arrangements with Merlin, Leon, Gwaine, Lance, Percy and Elyan were quite ideal. He got to spend time with all his best mates, always had enough lads around to play a pickup game of footie if needed, and they never ran out of beer.

Unfortunately ‘normal circumstances’ only applied when it wasn’t in reference to Merlin’s shower usage. Why didn’t Arthur share with Percy? Percy was in and out of the shower in under five minutes. Merlin, on the other hand, was a world-record holder for longest showers of all time. Arthur was sure of it.

He glanced at his watch again and pushed off the wall, determined. “That’s it, Merlin!” he called, pulling his sweaty footie kit off over his head and barging into the bathroom. “I’m coming in there now!”

“Oh god, Arthur, no,” Merlin shrieked from the other side of the shower curtain. “I’ll be out in a second. Seriously.”

But it was too late, because Arthur dropped his sweaty shorts and pants to the floor and pulled the curtain open in one quick motion. Merlin - skinny, wet and horrified - was trying to cover himself, one arm wrapped ridiculously across his chest and the other hand cupping his cock.

Arthur smirked and stepped inside. “Quit being a girl, _Mer_ lin,” he drawled, gesturing to the arm covering his chest, and maneuvered his back into the hot spray of water, nudging Merlin out of his way. “It’s not like you have parts I’ve never seen before.”

Merlin scoffed and let his arms drop, quirking his eyebrow. “I don’t like having my shower interrupted, Arthur,” he said quietly, dangerous.

Before Arthur could even fathom what that meant, Merlin wrapped his fingers around his wrist and pulled. Slipping on the wet floor of the shower, Arthur stumbled, ready to crash into Merlin, but instead fell forward when he danced around him effortlessly and slid under the water, a triumphant grin on his face.

“Ha!” Merlin said. “Ha-bloody-ha!”

Shocked, Arthur shouted, “Oi!” and then tried to push Merlin out of the way. From there, it was laughter and good-natured shouting while they try to out-maneuver each other for position under the water.

After one particularly hard yank on Merlin’s bicep, Arthur felt his body stumble forward once more, this time colliding with Merlin. He gasped loudly when their half-hard cocks bumped and slid together deliciously.

White-hot need pooled low in his belly when he saw Merlin’s eyes roll back into his head and a groan tumbled from his lips. Without thinking of the possible consequences, Arthur attacked Merlin’s mouth with his, the kiss filthy and hot, all tongue and teeth. When Merlin opened his mouth, tongue slipping out to curl against Arthur’s, he thought he’d come right then.

With adrenaline and lust pushing him, Arthur wrapped his hand around both of their cocks and started pumping them together. Merlin moaned something unintelligible against his mouth and then tipped his head back. That was an invitation if Arthur’d ever seen one and attached his mouth to the side of his neck, sucking and licking, all while his hand pumped harder and faster.

When Merlin keened, “Oh fuck, Arthur, I’m gonna come,” Arthur could only think _yesyesfuckyes_ and squeezed his fist tighter. They came together in a chorus of _sweetmotheroffuck_ ’s and _ohgodyessssss_ ’s.

Arthur, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against Merlin’s, only had a moment to think that he may have just royally fucked up his relationship with his best mate - even if they had maybe been dancing around their mutual attraction for years - before he felt an entire bucket of ice water fall on their heads. They both screeched like a couple of schoolgirls and heard Gwaine shout,

“‘Bout fucking time, you oblivious bastards! Now keep it down! I can’t hear the footie match!”

* * *

**63**

Merlin bent down to test the heat of the water. After a moment he rose and turned around again, eyes fading to blue, to see Arthur pushing his breeches to the ground, his tunic beside him. The paint looked almost silly, now. Especially as Arthur stared out at the horizon, sunlight hitting his skin instead of firelight and shadows.

"Are you going to get in or not?”

Arthur walked past him, lips curved upwards at the corners. Merlin removed his own clothes and grabbed the cloth he'd brought, following Arthur into the lake.

The paint came away easily when Merlin wiped the cloth over Arthur's skin.

#

There must have been some intrinsic enchantments in the symbols; now that they were gone, Arthur didn’t feel so... strange. Merlin’s magic had been restless all night, suspicious of the unfamiliar power. Arthur had been covered in only Merlin’s magic for so long that it didn’t recognise him properly when mere sigils were painted on him.

Merlin buried his hands in Arthur’s hair, gasping as his magic surged through him, stealing his breath. 

#

“Did you bring the oil?”

Merlin swore, lying back on the ground, closing his eyes, and his hand into a fist. A few seconds later he thrust the phial at Arthur, who took it and got the oil _everywhere_ when he fumbled with the lid. 

“One way of doing it,” Merlin said breathlessly, squirming as Arthur dragged his fingers through the oil on Merlin’s stomach. He bypassed Merlin completely, though, wrapping his fingers around his own cock and pulling lazily, sighing out a soft groan as Merlin watched, frustrated.

“You hated seeing me like that, didn’t you? Wearing their ... ‘colours’,” Arthur said, looking down at Merlin, who dragged his eyes up to Arthur’s face with visible effort. He took a moment to process Arthur’s question, then clenched his jaw. 

“I was just wary of them, that’s all.” He dropped his gaze to where a triskele had been painted over Arthur’s heart.

 

“You’re a terrible liar, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur whispered, biting his lip and tightening the circle of his hand. And that was absolutely enough of that.

Merlin slid his fingers through the oil trickling between his thighs and followed its path, circling his hole. Arthur frowned and wrenched Merlin’s hand away, leaning down and knocking the breath out of him, kissing him hungrily, reaching down to replace Merlin’s fingers. His first wasn’t coated in enough oil, and Merlin hissed, digging his fingers into Arthur’s back. Arthur softened the kiss, an apology, and pulled away to ensure his fingers were covered properly before pushing two into Merlin, bending them obligingly to hear his whine. He added a third finger, dropping a kiss to Merlin’s chest. 

“Just- hurry _up_!”

Arthur grinned and shifted backwards a little, jacking his cock once with his slicked fingers, and pressed forward. He didn’t know whether it was Merlin’s magic that seemed to pull him in faster than Arthur had intended, or just Merlin clutching at him. It didn’t really matter. 

Merlin hummed, high and strained, meeting Arthur halfway, magic spiking in his veins and nearly overwhelming him as Arthur moved maddeningly slowly, and Merlin cried out, scraping his nails down Arthur’s back. Arthur groaned, burying his face in Merlin’s neck and holding onto his hips. There hadn’t been time for this the night before; they’d been too exhausted - anxious the visit go well, relieved it had - and conscious of curious ears that didn’t need to know the tiny details of their relationship.

“You don’t- shouldn’t have to- defer to them,” Merlin said, palms soothing over the scratches he’d put there. Arthur leaned up on his elbow, fingers cupping Merlin’s head.

“I couldn’t ask them to form a treaty without showing any understanding of them.” 

“They didn’t need to try and paint you into one of them!”

That _was_ it; Merlin had _helped_ Arthur negotiate with them and even then- 

His hips jerked erratically as he came, mouthing at Merlin’s neck and angling himself to hit the best spot inside Merlin, who reached down to stroke himself off until he was tightening around Arthur’s softening cock, neck straining as his head tilted backwards.

Arthur was never going to let him live this down.

# 

“We need to wash, and get back,” Arthur said. 

Merlin nodded. They would, in due time. He continued to languidly trace the shape of a dragon onto Arthur’s chest with a finger.

* * *

**64**

The first fat drops of wax splattered across Merlin's right shoulder, startling a breath out of him. He tensed, clenched his hands into fists within their bonds, as he rode the sharp little pain over the initial crest.

The second time the wax hit his skin, the second, third, fourth time was _good_. It ran over his skin in sharp lines that forced the breath from him and made his muscles quiver.

It hurt, yes, a bit like when he bit his nails down to the quick, a sharp hurt, but guilty and self indulgent, a little self destructive.

That’s not what made him _crave_ , though, what made him want.

No- as Arthur drew line after line of fire across his back, marking him, _cleansing_ him, it made everything bright and sharp- alive- and _that_ , that was what he wanted.

He smelled the spicy scent of bayberry-infused tallow, not just in the candle Arthur held above him, ready to drown him in sensation again, but in the other candles he himself had lit around the room only an hour ago. He smelled the sunshine and soap that permeated the linen beneath his cheek, and the thick musky scent he associated with Arthur, and _wanting to fuck_.

He couldn't see anything, though, not through the fabric of one of Arthur's ceremonial sashes- Merlin had shivered almost violently at how irreverent it was, when Arthur had showed it to him- tied tightly around his eyes.

It was all so intoxicatingly _pleasurable._

And almost too much, too fast. The dozenth- maybe it was the hundredth- time Arthur dribbled the wax across his back, a long line that snaked along the bones of his spine, he finally cried out. The sound was breathy and desperate, and he only barely heard Arthur’s soft aroused cry in return, his softly spoken praise. "Shh, my love," as he traced the hardened lines of wax that striped his back with a blunt finger. "You are doing so well. By the gods, you are gorgeous like this."

Merlin didn't have the breath to respond, but at the words, something primal that had been winding up with each drip of wax upon his skin, _released_. He yearned to nuzzle against Arthur, to arch his back up into the hand that dealt both pain and punishing pleasure, even as he strained away from what he knew was still to come.

When Arthur tilted the candle again, the thin stream of wax layered upon his skin, found new skin that was none the less already hurting with rawness. Finally, _finally_ , he gave into the sensations, then, crossed that fine line between pleasure-pain, until his head was blissfully blank with it, and it was nothing at all to leave his body willingly in Arthur’s hands.

“Look at you,” Arthur breathed into his ear as he leaned over him, ran his hands down Merlin’s back, breaking up the hardened wax that had already begun to crack from his violent shaking.

He shook from the pain, yes, but also from the wellspring of emotion rising up to the surface, trapped only by the flimsiness of his skin.

It was only when the tears started, trembling in hesitation at the corners of his eyes for a moment, that Arthur finally stopped, finally allowed him time to breathe through the sensations crowding along his nerves. It still took him a long time to recognize the feel of being touched, to recognize the intimacy of skin to skin as Arthur traced a finger around the spasm of his hole with all the possessiveness of a man confident of his ownership.

He didn’t thrust inside right away, though, instead he drew his finger round and round, toying, teasing, slowly spiraling Merlin’s focus back into his body, to the place where he clenched with heat, and not the constant dull pain that was the entirety of his being. 

“Good,” Arthur cooed at him, as Merlin began to respond again, as he shifted to accommodate the growing flesh of his cock. “Good.”

When Arthur did slid his finger inside, targeting the hot center of Merlin’s pleasure with all the accuracy of a crossbow bolt, Merlin cried for a different reason.

And that was all it took, for everything to be _too much_ , for the pleasure and the pain to mix so exquisitely that he could do nothing but ride it through, confident that Arthur would protect him, would keep him from shattering beyond repair.

* * *

**65**

Flush and full, his cock bobbed in recognition of his lover's lips being so near. It was a birthday present. The least he could do was try. Focus on Merlin and try. 

Merlin pulled the sheer material up over Arthur's foot. It tickled and trapped him, a strange feeling that wasn't unpleasant but not exactly a turn on either. 

Another fleeting tap to his left heel and again Merlin tilted his head down to guide Arthur's other foot into the restrictive off white sheen of hosiery. 

Notoriously unruly hair tickled his balls causing Arthur to shiver. 

Merlin went to pull them up but was stopped. "Use the others first." Sir Gwaine leaned against a wall nearest to them. He was so casual in his direction, almost as if he didn't care. That was good. Arthur didn't want the man to care too much. Merlin was his. 

Arthur shifted feeling his body adjust to a new height. His ankles bound in tightly woven fabric. Two times he nearly stumbled getting the second heel on, but broad shoulders guided him.

A click click of the heels on the hard wood and warm breath to Arthur's cock, Merlin most definitely liked this from the way his eyes shown with want and pride. It was as if he was re-staking his own claim on Arthur's sex. It was...enticing.

"Pull up the stockings Princess. And let your handmaid lick you." Sir Gwaine was now more like a distant recording in the back of Arthur's mind, because his eyes were caught in Merlin's. A swift lick of tongue over a bottom lip before he bit into it with a challenge to Arthur. 

Slick wetness trailed down both their smoothed thighs, and Arthur bent forward. He tugged up the from the middle of the constrictive material. 

"Lick him clean Merlin."

Arthur's knees shook with the tension of staying up in the heels now without the support of his husband's shoulders. They may also have been shaking from the idea of Merlin shifting behind him, but how could he tell? 

Fingers trailed up the backs of his thighs and spread him open. A nose nuzzled deep between his parted cheeks followed by a whisper of lips and tongue licking his hole.

"Don't stop pulling them up Princess. Keep going. If you ever want to come, you have to get them all the way up." 

Smug bastard. 

Why would Arthur ever want Merlin to stop? He could come like this, legs bound at the ankle, teetering precariously in blood red heels. Then Arthur realized bent as he was, he couldn't touch himself without falling over. He couldn't come at all without dragging the tight material he clung to upwards.

"That's it Princess. Bring them up so after he's done licking you open, Merlin can suck you off through the material. He'll suck your trapped cock till you come."

The weight of the words and the hum of lips and tongue digging into him shattered inhibited notions of propriety. His hips needed to push back, but couldn't or he would fall. It was the constrictive pull of both Arthur's knees being locked together while another area so personal was pulled apart. The combined sensations released a series of impossible moans. It was so damn good.

Everything was smooth and damp with the clear leaking fluid of his cock and tiny beads of sweat over taught muscles. He struggled to pull up more, more, shifting his hips side to side in a quest for balance around a tongue that more than tasted him. 

With pain of oversensitive skin, his cock was forced into the stretched hosiery and Merlin finally had to pull back from the strained lack of access. 

Both men out of breath knew what was next. Sir Gwaine had told them.

"Lick the shaft Merlin with just the tip of your tongue until Princess begs you for more."

Smug Bastard.

* * *

**66**

"Where are you going?"

"Mmm. Out?"

Merlin shielded his eyes from the early morning rays coming in through the window. He looked over to the doorway just in time to see Morgana roll her eyes at him before disappearing and padding her way down the stairs. 

It was early. Too early for Merlin to get up, especially today, but the creak of the front door to the cabin made him scramble out and go to the window. 

"Morgana."

She stopped and looked up at him, in all her faux put-upon, naked glory. Merlin had all intentions of questioning her outfit choices for strolls in the forest but as the wind moved the trees around her and the shadows and rays painted and danced on her skin, he was rendered speechless. Just like this, away from the crowds, the city, the tabloids, their busy lives; here at the cabin where it all started ten years ago, she was perfect. Without the tailored suits and her hair in tight buns ("Masculinity is everything in the stock market, Merlin."), it was just the soft lines of her naked body, the curves Merlin knew so well, and could retrace blind and recite like poetry. 

Merlin’s voice croaked around the dryness in his throat, "Wait, I’m coming down."

Morgana laughed, carefree, open, and shook her head. "Time is money, Merlin!" She took off across the underbrush, the leaves and twigs crunching, cracking under her feet, her long black hair trailing like waves behind her.

Merlin ran down, no longer caring about clothes or propriety, or the racing _I’m too old for this_ in his head. The brisk morning hit him just as his feet hit the forest floor, becoming a mosaic of twig and leaf impressions. 

If Morgana had ran off on him like this the first time, he’d have panicked, yelled, searched aimlessly. But now he knew her better than he knew himself and he wasted no time following her to their tree. When he finally got there, he couldn’t help holding back an echoing laugh. 

"Aren’t you worried about bark burn?" 

Merlin approached the tree slowly; eyes trained on Morgana, now hanging from the misshapen tree upside down like a kid from the monkey bars, holding on with one hand, her hair sweeping the leaves as she shook her head in answer. Like this, she was joie-de-vivre personified, laughing, teasing that “it looks much bigger from this angle” at his unflagging erection.

Merlin kissed her knees when he reached her, nuzzling his way down between them, between the soft skin of her thighs. He felt the giggle catch in her throat and she shivered against him. Morgana’s free hand travelled up from the ground, nails gently raking up Merlin’s leg, pulling him closer. Merlin moved in, lips not leaving the flesh of her thigh, bending his body and moving down to bury in her pubic hair. 

He inhaled her scent and let it engulf him completely, nosing through the hairs until the tip of his nose slid between her lips. Another gasp from below as Morgana’s other hand clung to him, all nails and pleasure-pain, making Merlin thrust forward, cock sliding into the groove between her breasts. 

Morgana bit at his thigh in warning, moaned, "Lift me up, let me suck you." Merlin had never been one to deny her. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and lifted, feeling her body slide against his, a delicious glide of skin, until her arse rested on the tree. He held her in place and buried his face back in between her folds trying not to focus on the sudden heat engulfing his cock. He lapped at Morgana’s clit, feeling her moans all around him, tried to make her feel as good as he did. He kissed at her pussy, focusing on her pleasure, licking and sucking. 

Merlin knew she was close when her thighs trembled around his face and he was spurred on, knowing how much she loved the pleasure-pain threshold, the overstimulation, licking directly at her hard clit over and over, face covered in her juices. He heard her cry out after a particularly strong lick and Morgana gripped his arse and pulled him further into her mouth, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat. As Morgana tightened her thighs around his head, riding out her orgasm, Merlin couldn’t hold back and came down her throat, his legs nearly giving out.

When they collapsed, spent, the underbrush caught their fall.

* * *

**67**

Arthur closed his eyes and scowled, taking in a deep lungful of smoke before tugging the cigarette away from his lips. He opened his eyes on the exhale and stared morosely upwards. 

The stain near the light fixture had grown twice in size since he had last been here, it seemed. Perhaps things would have been different if he had chosen somewhere better, he mused. Somewhere classier.

Not that it mattered. Not now, anyway.

Taking a long, slow drag of his cigarette, he contemplated the events of the previous hour.

Arthur had been waiting impatiently in the hotel room – always the same room – naked but for a towel slung around his waist. Fifteen minutes later there was a knock on the door and Arthur had flung it open eagerly. As expected, Merlin had been standing there and Arthur had barely waited for him to enter the room before slamming the door shut and pulling Merlin roughly towards him.

But then something that Arthur had not anticipated occurred.

Merlin had pushed him away. For the first time ever, Merlin had rejected him.

‘I’m sorry Arthur,’ he had said, even as Arthur had stared, and – to give Merlin credit – he did actually look torn up about it. ‘But I can’t do this. Not any more. Not – not like this.’

And then he had gone on to list all the reasons why he wanted to end things. Arthur _hurt_ him, he didn’t respect him, he was _selfish_ , he was already married, he didn’t know how much Merlin had given up for him, he just _used_ him … The list went on.

And then, having said that, Merlin had had the gall to look _relieved_ , to look _unburdened_ … Arthur had wanted to fucking smash his pretty little face into the wall.

He hadn’t though.

He had merely nodded and had then quietly asked Merlin to leave.

The moment the door was shut he had walked calmly over to the bedside table and, pulling a cigarette out of an almost-empty box, had proceeded to light it and slowly breathe in the heady, nicotine-infused smoke. Then, just as calmly, he had tugged the towel off from around his waist and had lay down in the middle of the bed, completely naked, and had proceeded to stare at the ceiling.

And that was where he was now, contemplating the ceiling stain while smoking one of his last remaining cigarettes.

 _Merlin used to look at that stain,_ he thought. _He used to lie here, on his back, and stare at that stain while I fucked him. Fucked him hard._

He felt his prick twitch. Calmly, he brought his cigarette to his lips once more.

 _Yeah,_ he thought. _I fucked him good. Really good._

Slowly, his right hand slid down his body towards his groin.

 _Yeah._ He grunted. _Fuck. That’s what I’d do now. Shove him down and just – just – Fuck._

He swallowed a grunt as the head of his dick suddenly gave a blurt of precum, making everything stickier, smoother, more easily handled.

 _Christ Merlin,_ he groaned. _So fucking tight. Yes, just like that._ He tightened the grip of his fist around his dick. _Fuck yes._

Out of nowhere the memory of Merlin’s words from that afternoon popped into his head.

‘You just use me, Arthur,’ Merlin said, voice thick and eyes full of unshed tears. Crocodile tears. Whore’s tears. ‘You don’t – I’m just another random body to you. You _use_ me.’

 _Fuck,_ Arthur swore, fucking into his fist even faster. _I’ll_ use _you. Fuck will I use you. Fucking treacherous slut._

He moaned and sped up the pace of his fist, stroking harder, rougher.

‘I won’t do it,’ Merlin had said, shaking his head with conviction, his voice growing stronger. ‘No more, Arthur. I won’t allow you to use me any more.’

 _Well I’m using you_ now, Arthur thought viciously. _I’m using you and there’s nothing you can do about it. Fuck! _he swore, now almost painfully on the threshold of orgasm. _Fuck – Merlin, I – I fucking love –___ And with one more vicious twist of his wrist he climaxed, body contorting violently as he wrung every last drop of seed from his body with the tightness of his fist.

Body trembling, he finally let go of his now-limp dick and wiped his hand on the coverlets, breathing hard.

Then, calm once more, he slowly brought his cigarette back up to his lips.

Taking one long drag, he closed his eyes and smiled.

* * *

**68**

“Mate, I think that new kid shaves his pubes,” Gwaine says, watching Pendragon’s expression change from smiling to stunned in a beat.

“That skinny fifteen year old?” 

“Sixteen. I saw him in the showers at school yesterday after PE. Smooth as silk.” 

Pendragon’s eyes widen. 

“He went bright red, but I don’t think he minded me looking.” 

That earns Gwaine a hard shove. “Perv.” 

When Gwaine steadies himself and turns back to his friend, Arthur’s lost in thought. “He saw you?” Interested, just as Gwaine suspected.

Gwaine grins. “Yep.”

~o~

Gwaine’s eyes drift to Merlin lounging on a pool float, long fingers trailing in the water. All he can think about is the kid’s smooth balls, and he knows the same thing is on Pendragon’s mind. When they’d invited Merlin to hang out at Arthur’s pool, Merlin had seemed surprised, flattered to be noticed by the older boys.

Merlin watches Gwaine stand and stretch, blushes when he’s caught.

“I’m bored,” Gwaine says. 

Arthur rolls his eyes and finishes his beer before reaching for another, says, “surprise, surprise.”

“Wanna play a game?” Gwaine asks them both. Merlin nods. He hops into the water and paddles to the side before hoisting himself out. 

Even though he’s a bit on the skinny side, Merlin’s got a firm stomach that tapers into a pronounced V. His shorts cling to his hips, dripping on the concrete.

“What are we playing?” he asks, flopping into a chair and accepting a beer from Arthur. 

Gwaine smiles. “Never have I ever.”

“What are we, twelve?” Pendragon asks, but the protest is only half-hearted; his eyes are keen with interest. 

They go a few rounds, each asking relatively harmless questions until it’s Gwaine’s turn. “Never have I ever shaved my junk.” 

Merlin’s eyes snap open wide, face and chest flushing splotchy red. 

“Merlin?” Gwaine asks, raising his eyebrows in expectation. Merlin meets his challenging stare with his own, then tips his beer back and swallows, full lips obscene against the mouth of the bottle. 

“Christ,” says Pendragon, shifting in his chair. 

“Doesn’t it itch?” Gwaine asks, curious and growing aroused as the tension thickens like humidity around them. 

Merlin’s lashes are long as a girl’s. He shakes his head, embarrassed. 

“Let’s see.” 

“No.” Merlin’s already up and out of his chair, poised like he wants them to give chase. And fuck, his cock is thickening, tenting his trunks behind spread fingers that hide nothing. 

“Get his arms,” Gwaine tells Arthur, grinning. Merlin laughs and backs away, but not fast enough. When Arthur grabs him, Merlin struggles for a moment before collapsing against Pendragon’s broad chest.

“Shit.” Seeing Merlin helpless in Arthur’s arms is so hot, Gwaine falls to his knees. The air is full of Merlin’s nervous laughter as Gwaine wrestles down the damp shorts. 

Merlin’s erection is lean, dark pink, and long. Fuck, his bollocks as are smooth as Gwaine remembers. 

“Oh God,” Gwaine groans. “Would you look at this, Pendragon?” Merlin’s laughter has quieted. 

Arthur’s peers over Merlin’s shoulder, eyes glassy as he takes in the erection bobbing near Gwaine’s mouth. “Jesus,” he says. 

Gwaine reaches out, touches the hairless sack between Merlin’s legs. The kid moans and spreads his legs as wide as the trunks around his ankles will allow. 

“I need to…” Gwaine mutters with a near-hysterical laugh. 

“Do it. Suck his cock.” Pendragon says thickly. Gwaine looks up for permission, but instead is greeted with the sight of Arthur kissing a bruise into Merlin’s neck, tweaking his nipple into a peak.

Merlin whimpers and thrusts his hips forward, so Gwaine swirls his tongue under the ring of foreskin before pushing it back to get at the sensitive head. He lets Merlin fuck his mouth while Pendragon attacks Merlin’s neck, hands running possessively over the kid’s body. The cock slides slickly between Gwaine’s lips, and he nearly chokes when Merlin drives deep, his rhythm faltering. Behind Merlin, Pendragon is getting his nut, rutting against his arse. 

Gwaine holds the base of Merlin’s cock with one hand and mouths his tight sack, feels behind for the cleft. Fucking hairless. Kid shaves his hole, too. He pushes one finger inside and swallows Merlin to the root.

“Oh fuck, yeah,” Pendragon groans as he comes. Merlin cries out, whole body tensing as he spurts salty-hot down Gwaine’s throat. 

“Told you,” Gwaine says, panting, wiping his mouth as he gets his hand down his shorts to finish himself off with a quick jerk. “Told you he shaved his nads.”

* * *

**69**

It begun as subtle barbs:

“Hello Arthur dear, you’re looking more relaxed than usual. That extra hole in your belt must be giving you some more breathing room.”

“Be quiet Morgana.”  
***  
“Are you sure you should be having that second helping of potato salad? You know what they say; a moment on the lips is a lifetime on the hips.”

“I will pay you actual money to go away right now Morgana.”

***  
“All I’m saying Arthur, is that it seems like you’ve let yourself go a bit since becoming CEO. I mean there isn’t anything wrong with a bit of pudge, I’m sure Merlin loves it. Don’t you Merlin?

“I AM NOT PUDGY.”

***  
Eventually it devolved into this:

“So I bought you a new suit the other day. I think it’s time to upsize-”

“Enough Morgana! I am a perfectly healthy weight and certainly much fitter than you so- -”

“Excuse me,” Morgana snorted out in challenge, “I don’t think so.”

“Right, let’s settle this. Pendragon Manor, Sunday.”

“We’ll meet at the archery range. I want to see how well you do at a game that takes actual skill.”

***  
Sometime before the challenge this was decided:

“Who should we get to judge?” asked Morgana.

“Merlin can do it”

“No, Merlin is sleeping with you. What about Leon?”

“No, Leon wants to sleep with you” replied Arthur. “It’s hardly fair to rule out Merlin and then suggest Leon.”

“Fine,” said Morgana in annoyance “How ‘bout Gwen? She’s dated both of us; it would be a completely even playing field.”

“Gwen’s too bloody nice. She’d be apologising to whoever loses for weeks just trying to make sure nobody’s feelings were hurt. It would be an utter disaster”

“Well if we can’t choose someone who’s slept with both of us why don’t we choose someone who _wants_ to sleep with both of us?” Morgana proposed, eyes dancing with glee.

“No.” groaned Arthur dramatically “Not _Gwaine_.”

***  
“You guys are going to get naked right?”

“There will be absolutely no nudity Gwaine” Arthur said, jaw locked in a mulish expression.

“That’s bollocks. How can I decide who’s fitter if I can’t even see the gorgeous bodies I’m meant to be judging, Princess?”

“I don’t mind a bit of nudity,” Morgana injected smoothly, “I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.” She smiled at Arthur mockingly, scenting blood in the water like a vicious shark ready to strike. “It’s alright if you don’t want to though Arthur, I understand how delicate your emotional state has been since you’ve gained those few extra pounds.”

***  
Just before the challenge this happened:

“Why did Morgana agree to naked archery by the way?” asked Merlin “I’m sure she’s told you by now.” 

“Oh, Morgana was in the archery team in school” Gwen said, “I thought you knew that.”

“The archery isn’t the part I was wondering about,” Merlin said drily, “I was asking about the naked bit mostly.”

“Oh. That.” Gwen looked at him teasingly. “Well I think Morgana is hoping to distract Arthur with the loveliness of her naked bosoms. Not that he would be looking on purpose, I mean he has you, it’s just that Morgana's breasts are quiet spectacular to look at and her nipples-”

“Oi, spectators!” Gwaine interrupted rudely, to Merlin’s quiet relief. “The slags are ready to compete when you are.”

***  
The actual challenge went like this:

From the moment Arthur’s naked form appeared, the sun kissing his bare torso lovingly, Merlin remained transfixed. 

There was definitely something magnificent on the archery field but it wasn’t necessarily Morgana's breasts.

***  
Just after the challenge:

“Did you want me to lose Merlin?” asked Arthur, gripping the dark hair beneath him tightly. The copse behind the archery range wasn’t exactly the best place to hand out the discipline he intended but it would have to do.

“I could feel you staring at me, distracting me,” he panted as Merlin hummed around his dick. 

“You made me lose Merlin,” Arthur continued. “We could be celebrating at home, your hands tied to the headboard while I fuck you into oblivion,” Arthur pumped his hips faster into Merlin's pliant mouth, “Instead, you don’t get to come until I say you do.”

Merlin groaned as Arthur pulled back, sucking the head of Arthur's cock until the taste of him exploded into his mouth.

***  
Merlin was still heavy in his jeans, stroking lightly at Arthur’s slight love handles when Arthur found his voice again. 

“I am not fat,” Arthur pouted ridiculously.

Merlin nipped playfully at Arthur’s hips. “No,” he agreed, “You’re perfect.”

***  
Somewhere in the Manor house Morgana was smirking to herself. Men were so predictable.

* * *

**70**

**Ex-Sex**

He shouldn’t be doing this.

That was the last coherent thought he had before Arthur grabbed his shoulders, shoved him into the nearest wall, and started to kiss him senseless. Perhaps he could have retained a shred of dignity if it would have been an ‘I’m over you and this is goodbye’ sort of kiss-- but no, this was the mother of all ‘I want to throw you on the floor and fuck you raw’ kisses.

Merlin considered reminding him that _Arthur_ had broke up with _him_ six months ago, but when he opened his mouth to do so, Arthur immediately slipped his tongue in and-- **fuck**! He had missed this.

Merlin groaned and grabbed onto Arthur’s belt loops. With a not-so-gentle tug, Merlin yanked him forward until they were pressed tightly together.

“I’ve wanked to the thought of you every night for six months.” Arthur had all but growled into his ear. Merlin shivered from head to toe and welcomed the familiar feeling of Arthur’s hard length rutting into his thigh.

“You have no idea--” Merlin started to say, but was silenced when Arthur’s blunt teeth scraped over his neck and sunk into his sensitive skin. He sucked until Merlin’s skin began to bruise and he couldn’t help but let out a low whimper. 

Arthur pulled back slowly and smirked at him. “Oh, I think I have an idea,” he retorted and pressed his hand firmly against Merlin’s cock.

Merlin’s heart jumped into his throat, and all he could do was whisper a defeated, “ _Please._ ”

In a flurry of movement, Arthur removed both their shirts and managed to get Merlin’s pants down around his ankles.

“Consider this my first ever, and only, apology.” Arthur said as he dropped to his knees.

In one swift motion, Arthur gripped the base of his cock and sucked the head into his mouth. Seeing Arthur on his knees with his arrogant mouth stretched around Merlin’s cock was almost too much. Merlin wanted to thrust forward into that mouth; fuck him until his throat was raw and his lips were bleeding.

Unfortunately, Arthur was having none of it. He pinned Merlin to the wall and made him remember exactly why Arthur _always_ got what he wanted. It was still good though.

So good.

When Arthur finally started to move, Merlin’s eyes rolled back into his head and he sagged against the wall, gripping Arthur’s shoulders for balance.

Arthur teased him mercilessly by swirling his tongue over Merlin’s head and into his slit, but nothing more. His body was on fire, screaming for more and writhing under Arthur’s grip.

 _‘More!’_ he screamed in his head, but was unwilling to give his shameless begging a voice.

Arthur seemed to have psychic powers though, because he finally relented and took all of him down his throat. Merlin instinctually bucked against Arthur’s grip and dug his nails into Arthur’s back, leaving scratch marks when Arthur abruptly swallowed around him.

All too soon, Merlin felt his balls tighten and his stomach clench, warning him of his impending orgasm.

“I’m going to come,” Merlin shouted in warning as his fingers dug into Arthur’s already irritated skin.

Arthur abruptly pulled off him with a pop and stood up. “Not yet,” he commanded as he squeezed his fingers firmly around the base of Merlin’s cock. Merlin moaned in disapproval, but knew better than to object.

“Turn around.” Arthur demanded. No sooner than he complied, Arthur had two lubed up fingers inside him, scissoring and stretching him. Fuck! Where had the lube come from?

That son of a bitch had planned this!

As Arthur’s fingers brushed his prostate, he found he really didn’t care.

Another finger was added quickly, nearly making Merlin come undone. His dick was hard and an angry red. Precome steadily leaked from his slit, dribbling its’ way down his cock.

“I’m going to fuck you now.” Arthur whispered before he bit down on the back of Merlin’s neck.

Arthur pushed in without restraint, pounding him into the wall. Merlin took it all, and pushed his hips back to meet each thrust. They were both too worked up to last very long, and he soon felt Arthur’s release shooting deep inside of him.

“Come for me.” Arthur demanded, and Merlin did as he was told. His body seized up and he covered the wall with his release.

“Mine.” Arthur said into his skin and placed a gentle kiss on his back.

Merlin couldn’t help but agree.

END

* * *

**71**

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed, cutting the engine of their dingy. 

Merlin started to worry. It had been Arthur’s idea to go wilderness camping, so that the only way in was by dingy. Merlin had been against it. The idea of being so far removed from civilization made him think of people dying of bear attacks

“Is it the engine?” Merlin worried, turning around on his bench and clutching his life jacket desperately. 

“No,” Arthur murmured, starting to peel off his life jacket. 

“Arthur, according to the boating manual, you’re supposed to wear your life jacket at all times within a small vessel like this,” Merlin warned him. 

“Is that so,” Arthur smirked, throwing his life jacket down into the boat. Standing there, bare-chested, he winked as he slipped one hand under the swim trunks. 

“Arthur!” Merlin yelped, glancing towards the shoreline to make sure there were no witnesses. 

“Come on Merlin,” Arthur moaned, as he stopped pulling at himself long enough to stand up and step out of his swim suit.  
Merlin swallowed thickly at the sight of Arthur, aroused and naked before him. 

“You shouldn’t stand in a boat,” Merlin whispered hoarsely, his eyes unable to leave the proud erection that Arthur cupped and toyed under Merlin’s watchful eyes. 

“That’s a canoe,” Arthur quipped. “You shouldn’t stand in a canoe. We’re in a dingy.”

“Same thing,” Merlin licked his lips. 

“A dingy has a motor, Merlin,” Arthur moaned, his hand pumping faster. “Come on. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“We’re in the middle of a bay,” Merlin reminded up, even as his hand went to press against his hard on, desperate for some relief. 

“We haven’t seen another living soul in twenty minutes,” Arthur reminded him. “And I’ve had to sit here and look at you with your ridiculous life jacket, and you’re swim shorts are riding low, and ... just get naked Merlin.”

“I could fall in and drown,” Merlin whined. 

Growling, Arthur leaned down and pushed Merlin so he was on his knees, stomach flat against the bench. Merlin moaned as Arthur tugged down his swim shorts, exposing his bare ass to the fresh water breeze. 

“Then we’ll keep your life jacket on,” Arthur muttered in his ear. Merlin rolled his eye when Arthur reached for the bailer and pulled out a condom and lube. 

“Seriously, you’re keeping it in the bai ...” Merlin trailed off as Arthur’s finger’s roughly penetrated him. 

“What was that Merlin?” Arthur asked, nipping his ear as he pumped his fingers in deep and hard.

“People ... see,” Merlin moaned, leaning back against the intrusion, desperate for more. 

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Arthur whispered. He pulled out his fingers and Merlin whimpered at the loss. Then the pressure was back as Arthur pressed into him, slowly penetrating. “You want some boat to come by, see you on your knees, begging for it. You want them to see you taking it, still wearing your life jacket.”

“Arthur,” Merlin moaned, trying to push back enough to reach down to his own hard cock. Arthur was having none of it; he pounded into him harder, pushing him against the bench. 

“Come on Merlin,” Arthur commanded, pulling up on the back of Merlin’s life jacket to hoist him up. He reached his hand around and ruthlessly started to stroke Merlin’s cock. “This what you wanted? Want the world to see you come?”

“Yes,” Merlin moaned, leaning his head back in submission. “I’m ...”

Giving a strangled whimper and moan, Merlin spurted over Arthur’s capable hands. As he went limp, Arthur grabbed his hips and lasted a few more thrusts, before he stilled inside of him. 

Finally, after regaining their breath, Arthur slipped out of him and restarted the engine. 

“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” Merlin asked, distracted by the wind against his flaccid cock. 

“It’s called wilderness camping, Merlin,” Arthur scolded, “meaning no one is around. We are going to be naked the entire time.”

Merlin was about to complain, but then, who was he to pass up so quality naked time. Smirking back at Arthur, Merlin slowly undid his life jacket, winking as he tossed it to the floor. As Arthur once again stopped the engine and tackled Merlin to the hull of the boat, all he could do was laugh. They would reach their camp site eventually.

* * *

**72**

“Post-coital cigarette?”

Freya starts and looks up. Embarrassingly, she was too busy staring at her hands and chain-smoking to even realize he’d woken up, and there he is, propped up on his elbows and watching her with a smile that reminds her he’s being kind, that he knows her well enough to know she only smokes when she’s nervous. That’s enough to wring a smile out of her. “A few hours late for that. What are you doing up?”

“I’ve been cruelly abandoned.” Gwaine rolls out of bed, lazy as a lion in the morning and unself-consciously naked. She’s half-dressed, a camisole and pants and one of his shirts unbuttoned over it, because she’s never been one to strut about naked, even in her own flat. “You okay?”

“Fine. I promise.” He wanders over to her and she exhales to clear the smoke before he kisses her, tasting of morning and soured wine and the smoke from her mouth. That puts her on firmer ground, as he must have intended, and she spreads her legs to let him walk in closer, cigarette going to ash as she holds it away from them. “Really, go back to bed. It’s Saturday, we don’t need to be up for hours.”

“Exactly, we don’t. So you can come back to bed.” He pouts, which should by all rights look ridiculous but by some mysterious alchemy manages not to be, and Freya fakes a put-upon sigh before stubbing her cigarette out on the windowsill.

Gwaine takes that as full capitulation and lifts her, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist or fall. “What are you _doing_?” she asks, grin breaking out despite herself.

“Practicing,” he says with a wink, and for an instant she’s breathless with panic and not with laughter, but it goes away before she has to examine it, and he dumps her on the bed with a creak of springs and a lascivious wiggle of his eyebrows, settling her at the edge, where her feet would reach the floor if her legs were longer. Freya laughs, as she’s meant to, and he kneels to scrape his teeth at her hip and ease her panties off.

When he’s done, Gwaine stays down there, and Freya shivers with anticipation, parting her thighs. She knows what comes next, and sure enough, there’s his stubble scraping her thighs, his tongue sliding into her slit, his hands coming up to grab her hips. It’s a well-known feeling with a new edge to it this morning, like he’s caught her worry or has some of his own, and he sucks hard on her clit and is sloppy with his tongue inside her, making muffled noises whenever she grabs for his hair or bucks into his mouth.

Freya comes, as she always does, gasping for air, drowning in the orgasm. It takes her a minute to come back from it, and when she does, she’s surprised he hasn’t come up the bed to kiss her while they figure out how to get him off. She looks, and there he is, still on the floor and looking up at her. She winces and props herself up on her elbows. “I’m kneeling,” he offers. “I could ask again, and you can give a different answer this time. I won’t mind, nothing will change.”

“I’ll just …” She takes a deep, shuddering breath, thinks of all the reasons to say no in the light or morning and then thinks of saying _yes, yes, God, of course_ in giddy delight in the dark with him kissing her palm. “I’ll just give you the same answer all over again.”

A smile breaks across his face, and Freya feels steady, remembers she isn’t the only one terrified of this even if they both want it too. She sits up and holds out her left hand, and Gwaine takes it, brushes a kiss across the claddagh ring he moved from her right hand to her left when she said yes. “I think,” he says, grinning up at her wicked and happy, “I might ask again just to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” she says, and he tackles her back into the bed, kissing her and kissing her until she forgets she ever had doubts at all.

* * *

**73**

Percy’s first, second, and third impression is that there’s something weird about Merlin from accounts, because:

>   
> a) he really doesn’t care about numbers very much, but he can make them do all sorts of things no one in the entire company really understands.

> b) he’s an exclamation-mark thin Excel geek and yet everyone listens to him. Even when – no, _especially_ when he’s not talking about numbers.

> c) he’s always humming that song from _Chicago_.

The first two he got over when Merlin made him a Pot Noddle one day just because he apparently looked like a man in need of something “disgusting but sort of satisfying” for lunch, and the latter he put down to Merlin maybe just liking Catherine Zeta Jones (someone must, after all). So when they’re away at a conference and they end up sharing a room, and Merlin says he’s not really hungry and he’ll join them all after dinner, and Percy – having forgotten his phone – heads back up to said room, pretty much the last thing he’s expecting is that Merlin will be in the bathroom, leaning into the mirror to apply a smear of cranberry lipstick. If he’d ever made a list of potential fetishes for Merlin, spreadsheet kink and pie chart fixation would have ranked so much higher than this.

Backing out, muscles tense and face hot with having intruded on something no one was intended to see, Percy closes the door.

Or – he intends to, getting it almost flush to the frame before he takes a tiny – teeny tiny, barely counts – peek.

Under the harsh, anodyne lights of the bathroom, the glint of patent black heels gives way to stockings the colour of snow, a crop of dark hair squashed between the nylon and the curve of his calves. As if he needs instruction, a squiggle of seam points the way up over his thighs to a bump of arse, neatly cossetted by the cling of the material. Above the waistband of the tights, he’s not wearing anything, his chest bare but his lashes long and extra black. Humming that damn song, he turns, regarding himself in the mirror with an appraising tilt of his head, smiling, nodding, before he takes a step back from the sink and touches his dick, where it’s caught, hard, under the fine mesh.  
Percy knows with every cell that he should close the door, go to the bar, and drown this image in whiskey. His brain shouts – what if he sees? What are you doing? – but still he stays and watches, rapt.

Through the gauzy material, Merlin strokes. Reedy as he is, there’s plenty of muscle in his arms to flex as he starts to jerk himself off properly, and coupled with the quivering part of his lips, it pushes the words _fuck, he’s beautiful_ into Percy’s head, where it catches, intractable.

Steadying himself with a hand on the wall and begging that no one will walk down the hall and startle him before he’s seen what his face looks like twisted with coming, Percy touches himself. Copying Merlin, he fingers the outline of his cock through his jeans, and Merlin might have a head start but Percy soon catches up when Merlin spreads his legs and lets his head fall back, other hand trailing down his chest. 

Slipping his hands inside the tights, Merlin quickens his pace, knuckles extruding through the material as he tugs on his balls. He’s much rougher than Percy would be with him – 

Percy swallows. Not that he’s thinking of touching him – not Merlin from accounts, surely? He can't deny his reaction, or dodge the sliver-thin thought about how brilliant it would feel to have a ring of Merlin’s lipstick claiming his dick.

A mumbled, urgent grunt in the room and Merlin’s eyes fall to the mirror. Body twitching before going almost perfectly still, he clings to the edge of the sink and spills – white as the tights – all over his fingers.

He knows it’s weird, but Percy doesn’t stop watching.

And the weirdest thing of all is: it’s Merlin humming that song to himself as he rolls the stockings down, wipes off the lipstick, and turns back into himself that has Percy biting the back of his hand and coming against the zip of his jeans.

* * *

**74**

“Do you want to win?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to be the best?” Arthur asked. 

“Y-Yes.” The boy croaked, arm straining, fingers twitching under his chin.

“Good.” Arthur smiled, mouth grazing over the shell of the boy’s ear. “Then no distractions.”

 

He was stood at the back of the group, coal black hair matched against almost translucent skin. He was slender in frame, tall – much taller than a fifteen year old should be. When Arthur looked him over it wasn’t with thoughts of how best he could train this boy, rather ‘I wonder what sounds he’d make if I fed him my cock? Fucked his pretty mouth until his lips bled.’ He caught the kid’s eye, startling blue and frighteningly all-knowing. He’d smiled, innocent, youthful and damn – Arthur fucked into his fist on his lunch break, alone and hard. He was determined to have him.

This boy, Merlin, had been taunting Arthur all day –the bastard – all coquettish glances and heavy breathing during positioning.

He was good. More than good but he was complacent. 

The line of his drawing arm could be tighter, his footwork not quite as balanced as it should be and still he was the best Olympic prospect on the team - and he knew it. 

 

“You’re the one who seems distracted.” Merlin hitched, back straight against Arthur’s chest. “Coach.”

A draw of breath hissed through Arthur’s teeth. “Hit the target.”

Merlin blinked, pulled his elbow back further and released. The arrow landed in the outer blue ring.

“Again.” Arthur instructed, stepping closer. His thigh brushed against Merlin’s, erection straining against his tracksuit – shamefully obvious. The boy stumbled. It took him three tries to slot another arrow into his bow and take position. He fired – inner blue.

“Shit.”

“No distractions.”

The field was silent, floodlights flickering in the darkening hours of the summer evening. Merlin bent to ready his bow and almost collapsed back down as Arthur slipped a finger past the top of his shorts. His other hand came up to steady the boy, gripping hard enough to leave bruises at his waist. He cocked his finger to run along the crease of Merlin’s crack. Slow strokes that teased gasping moans from Merlin’s lips. Arthur smirked, drawing his finger out and chuckling as the boy’s body helplessly pushed back for more. 

 

“You’ll soon be performing in packed out arenas, Emrys.” Arthur spoke calmly, as if his dick wasn’t aching to push Merlin to the ground and fuck his pert virginal ass until he was sobbing into the dirt. 

“You’re going to have to learn to block everything out and just focus on the target. Now, elbow slightly higher,” Arthur moved Merlin into position. “Toe facing forward,” he kicked at the heel of Merlin’s shoe. 

There was hesitance in Merlin’s posture, as if every pore in his body was high-wired to react to Arthur’s touch. Merlin’s fingers begun to loosen their grip on the string when Arthur slid two wet fingers down the back of his shorts, blunt nails catching on the rim of the boy’s hole and making him scream. The arrow left his bow and pierced the ground. Merlin reached to grab Arthur’s hand on his waist, knees knocking. His fingers rubbed circles over the pucker of Merlin’s hole, sneaking the tip of one finger past the tight ring of muscle before pulling out and continuing its torturous caress. 

“A-Arthur.” Merlin hitched. 

“Coach.” Arthur cut him off forcibly, nails digging into the skin across the jut of Merlin’s hip.

He dragged the boy back against him, pushed his fingers harder and breached the space between his thighs fully. The quick suck on his fingers hadn’t been nearly enough to make this smooth for Merlin – it was dry and harsh. But that didn’t seem to matter as Merlin tipped his head back to rest on Arthur’s shoulder, withering on his fingers with reckless abandon. Merlin clenched his arse on every sharp stroke. 

“Another.” Arthur bit out. Fingers jabbing faster, scissoring to hit that bundle of nerves that made Merlin’s hips jerk. 

“What?” 

“Fire another.” 

Merlin growled; the sound jolting Arthur’s cock and dampening the front of his trousers further. Merlin prepared himself, raised the bow with shaky hands. Arthur halted his fingers, buried deep inside Merlin’s arse. 

“Now,” Arthur panted against Merlin’s neck, lips sucking the blood to the surface. He bit down hard, crooked his fingers and Merlin cried out. Arrow flying – Bulls eye.


End file.
